


An Isekai Valentine at Ebott's Wake

by Sophtopus



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ebott's wake, Gen, Isekai, Primarily for people who had read GQ and/or EW, The Golden Quiche, Valentine's Day, dimensional shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22723180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophtopus/pseuds/Sophtopus
Summary: One day, a Red SOUL named Mezil Thyme woke up on a bed of golden flowers. He had no memory of what transpired 24 hours ago. In a foreign land with some vague directions, he began his adventure in Ebott's Wake.This work takes place after the events of The Golden Quiche, told (mostly) by the point of view of a certain tsundere Magus.This work is also done with the permission and help of TimeCloneMike, the author of Ebott's Wake.
Comments: 53
Kudos: 34





	1. Isekai Ebott's Wake

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an idea on Discord as a what-if crossover by one of my readers. It started in 2019 and took a back seat until 2020. It so happens that Valentine is around the corner. So this became a Valentine's entry.
> 
> If you know the kind of person Mezil is, you'll know why this is Valentine appropriate. Hehehe.
> 
> EDIT: NOOOOOO I just realised that the site takes accounts on timezones so my story is posted on 15th Feb, Malaysian time! But it is the Editor's birthday so it's good too.

_This is not my bed._

_I don’t even **have** a bed._

Mezil, the Vampire of Time, sighed out loud at his predicament. The sky was blue with sparse clouds. Breeze rustled the tall grass. Rays of the annoying morning sun warmed his face. Instead of the clean sheets of a mattress, he’s lying on a patch of golden flowers. They almost couldn’t hold the weight of his adult mass.

Worst of all, he knew he’s in foreign territory. The air smelled different. The humidity levels didn’t match. And, he was certain he didn’t retire for the morning with his magic-imbued black tailcoat.

_Lucidia?_

_……………_

_Not good. I don’t sense a mindlink with her._

Mezil sat up. He checked his body for any clues about this mysterious predicament.

_I have my gun and a spare ammo cartridge. My brooch is pinned in place._

_No wallet. No phone. But, I have a single debit card. It’s not my usual one either._

Looking to the left, he found his cane lying on top of a picnic basket. He hoped that it was not his sword in disguise.

Further inspection revealed otherwise. With a slight twist, he managed to unsheathe the blade from its discreet scabbard.

_Damn. My licence to carry this weapon may not apply in these lands._

He fixed it back. Hoped that he would never need to resort to his standard gear in this misadventure. The police from his homeground territory already had split opinions about his arsenal, let alone a foreign force.

What’s in the picnic basket then? He opened it.

The contents were as miserable as a certain stumpy skeleton with an obsession for ketchup. All it contained was a sweet bun, a bottle of mineral water, and a printed instruction.

‘Head East to Waypoint.’

_…East. Towards the sun. This. This is a horrible prank._

Groaning won’t help. He’ll have to reach this ‘waypoint’ with limited resources. He took a sip of fresh water, ignoring the bread for now. He’s so filled with 'salt' that it's killing his appetite.

He slung the basket over his shoulder and walked east.

After ten minutes, Mezil reached the edge of his previous flowery environment. He had two choices: to either follow the small road into a light forest, or to climb on a hill to survey the area. 

The latter option seemed preferable to him. So, he detoured up the hill for a better view.

The silhouette of a giant mountain loomed above a quaint town. There’s something familiar about the scene. The shape of the terrain itself rang the bells of his memory.

Then, he spotted its denizens. Walking about in their daily lives were people who’re not in the shape of humans.

In other words, they’re Monsters.

_Isn’t that Ebott Town?_

_No. It only looks like Ebott Town. The rest of the surroundings don’t fully match. Either way, I should head there. Everything's better than getting stranded in the wilderness._

_Hmm. If only my wife was here. It would be nice to have an impromptu vacation together._

Down the hill he went. The imbuement of Blue Magic in his legs made the descent easy on his men's dress shoes. It would be wise to keep that side a secret as long as possible, though. One never knows how this world reacts to magic.

From there onwards, it’s a morning’s walk to monster civilization.


	2. Adventure Journal: Entry 0 - 11

[The following entries contain the unedited writings of Mezil Thyme about his adventure in the town called Ebott’s Wake.]

Entry 0  
Papyrus exists in this world. Meet him ASAP.

* * *

Entry 1, 1103H

Notebook and pen, obtained. Papyrus is helpful, as expected. I can now write my thoughts proper.

Some recollections are due. First, whoever wrote that miserable note had set me up to be a fool. It’s not ‘waypoint’. It’s ‘waystation’. And this town has eighteen of them!

Hmph. I don’t want to meet the prankster who tossed me into the wilderness on a whim anyway. If that stranger expected me to appear before them, they should have given better instructions.

I could buy a notebook, but this debit card might be a trap: stolen, or linked to fraud. I better not use the contents, lest I get in trouble with the local authorities. I instead entrusted it to Papyrus’ hands.

It appears that the current date is July 1, Year 2020. Which explains why the weather almost murdered me on the way to town. Ugh. My clothes are not Summer-friendly.

I hope to not miss my birthday. I’m overdue for a joint celebration with Lucidia.

* * *

Entry 2, July 1. 1500H

Papyrus being Papyrus, cooked spaghetti for lunch. Thankfully delicious. I learned that he’s a popular blogger and monster ambassador in this timeline. Good for him.

Hmm. Papyrus as an ambassador’s aide… I suppose there are some constants across the realms.

Once we finished our meal, he showed me the town of Ebott’s Wake. A more creative name than the humble ‘Ebott Town’.

I was then introduced to this fellow named ‘Hal’.

A jester type. Can’t say I’m pleased. Always had terrible luck with those. His behaviour puts me on guard.

Hal tried to convert me into an aficionado of this ‘Rick Roll’ meme. Why is it such a big deal anyway? It’s just another cheesy love song. I just don’t get its appeal at all. The tune isn’t even good.

The earworm factor? Play any song enough times and it becomes an earworm. Certainly not what I need. Or want.

* * *

Entry 3, July 1. 2100H

Not even twenty-four hours and my reputation as an ‘adventure magnet’ shows. Sigh.

I just had to walk into the wrong store, at the wrong time, and at the wrong entrance. Some scoundrel tried to rob petty change from the counter. My sudden presence caused a surprise that made the criminal judge poorly.

I reacted upon muscle memory and knocked the bugger to the ground, using a Mark to disturb my target’s balance. I had kept this power hidden under my hand. It’s unwise to show more than I already have.

I suspect that sharper eyes have already noticed that I’m more than just a grey-haired gentleman.

* * *

Entry 4, July 1. 2200H

Roll On Inn. Recommended by Papyrus himself. I can see why: it’s the go-to place for other dimensional travellers. He’s also kind enough to foot the bill for tonight.

The rifts opened up some years ago, so said testimony. As a result, people from all manners of timelines are welcomed on this soil.

There’s a beat-up hoverbike from the far future next to a pristine 20th century roadster: parked side by side. This is the stuff from movies. At least I don’t look too out of place.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m ready to get a much needed shower and sleep.

Sleep. At this hour. When was the last time I did that?

Where in the world am I anyway? ‘United States of America’? That doesn’t tell me enough. Is this Central? Far West? Far East? What’s the geographical layout of this world?

How much time had passed in my timeline? Does time-dilation take effect? I hope it’s not long. Otherwise, Lucidia will get stressed beyond belief. The last time I vanished without a word, I… suffered a permanent scar.

Lucidia, I’ll get back to you. Promise.

* * *

Entry 5, July 2. 0630

Papyrus showed up at the inn at the earliest opportunity. I’m writing this event down right before his being, notebook and all.

It must be the waking mental haze. I have no other explanations for being this obvious.

Nevertheless, he became curious. This Papyrus struck me as quite similar as the one back home. A trusted figure. So, I offered him to have a gander to read my comments.

He was quite amused. Also flattered by my high esteem about his person. Although, he thought that I was being too harsh on Hal. Hmph. We’ll see about that.

Papyrus had expressed eager anticipation to read my future entries. I’ll accept that. He could help correct any errors of understanding as well.

The debit card turns out to be stolen material after all. It was safely returned to its proper owner. As a reward for my honesty, Papyrus offered to be a walking wallet. 

Though grateful, I wonder how many out there have taken advantage of his good heart. I trust that Papyrus has the wisdom to see the more obvious attempts. But, there are always those who’re more subtle: unintentional or otherwise.

Heh. I just got chided for my cynicism.

* * *

Entry 6, July 2. 0730H

All is fine in All Fine Labs.

At least, I hope that’s the case. Goodness gracious, there’s a long queue right in the dead of morning!

Misplaced travellers of all shapes and eras waited in line for their first steps towards home. It looks like something straight out of a cosplay event, except every article was not a clever prop.

Makes me wonder… is this all the work of one prankster? A group of them? Perhaps a syndicate took advantage of the tears in spacetime to parasite this town for money? 

Hmm. Perhaps ‘parasite’ isn’t the right word. The town did prosper well from the rise of tourism. A ‘questionable symbiote’ may be a more accurate description.

* * *

Entry 7, July 2. 1100H

Finally. That took forever. My data is being processed as I write this entry down.

More reasons why I wish Lucidia could join my adventure. This place is filled with all sorts of things that would interest her. Or infuriate, depending on the application.

All Fine Labs developed a method to deal with the constant flow of lost souls. The first step involves standard number-taking procedures. Approach a machine, press a button, and take the printed slip. Then wait until the gigantic screen displays the right code. It’s reminiscent of old school banks.

I suspect there are illiterate visitors in the midst. It could either be a language barrier or a simple lack of education. Some expressed fascination, though others scratched their heads (or the equivalent expression).

For example, I don’t expect that fellow in ancient desert clothing to share the same numerical code as this era. They kept looking at the screen to make sure they didn’t miss anything.

Personnel attended to the confused: linguists and interpreters. It appears that All Fine Labs had that problem solved.

When my turn arrived, the staff took me to a full-body scanning device. Technology here is comparable to Year 2070. Maybe more advanced in some ways.

Since I speak this land’s common tongue, the assigned doctor discussed the results with me. I was fortunate enough to come from within the same ‘Multiverse Sphere’. Therefore, establishing a phone-like contact shouldn’t take long.

However, getting me home is a whole other matter. Even the closest dimensions require about a week to establish a stable portal.

A week from today, it will be past the birthday appointment. That irritated me more than being stuck in a foreign land. We finally had a breather and THIS nonsense happened!

I supplied the doctor with the necessary information to contact Lucidia. With my unexplained absence, she would be monitoring communication around the clock. Non-stop. Sleep would be the last thing on her mind. It’s not healthy, but I know my wife. 

Also, I expect her to yell at me for not contacting her sooner: a volcanic reaction of fear, worry, and lack of rest.

Then, it’s back to waiting. I took the time to write this entry down. Once I’m done, Papyrus invited me to take a stroll to the gift shop.

* * *

Entry 8, July 2. 1111H

Do miniaturized magic reactors make good souvenirs?  
Do they have the potential to outdo existing batteries?  
Are they even safe?

I bought one for Lucidia to study. Hopefully, it’s more than just a novelty.

* * *

Entry 9, July 2. 1130H

An officer by the name of Steve approached me. Yesterday’s unfortunate arrested scoundrel confirmed my identity.

It turns out that my recent victim was another lost traveller. Instead of trying to find a way back home, he resorted to thievery. Perhaps life here as a vagrant was better than wherever he came from. A sad state of affairs if such was the case.

While a warden took the bloke to the doctors, Officer Steve had a few choice questions for me. Understandable. Not many 50-year-olds have the capacity to pin a youth to the ground.

Magic itself was nothing unusual in these parts. Ebott’s Wake is full of monsters and plenty of otherworldly wizards pass by. It’s the brand of magic that concerned Officer Steve the most.

Hmph. I had hoped to slip past without ever showing my ‘true colours’. But, a controlled reveal of secrets is better than rampant suspicion.

As a symbol of goodwill, I decided to present my Mark.

* * *

Entry 10, July 2. 1245H

The brightest minds crowded around a glowing crimson butterfly: my Mark, and proof that I am a Living Victory.

It appears that in this world, the rule of magic is tied to the traveller. Other than the lack of SAVES, I have all access to my usual arsenal. Good news should my luck take a turn for the worst.

The buzz created enough attention to attract a familiar figure: Doctor W.D. Gaster. If there’s a Papyrus, I suppose it’s not too much of a stretch to find the other members of Team Ebott too.

…Except for the fact that this is not ‘Doctor Gaster’. When I greeted him as such, his eyes bulged out with deep annoyance and anger. I've only ever seen this emotion when Sans Serif cracked a terrible pun before his brother.

This man is Doctor Aster. With an ‘A’. Not a ‘G’. He’s also the skeleton brothers' father. Huh. What irony.

On request, I shared a sample of my Gaster’s tales of notoriety:

Of how he encouraged war to King Asgore.  
Of how he almost Amalgamated the whole of his nation to escape the Barrier.  
Of how Sans Serif had to take drastic measures by dropping him into The Core.

That’s sparing the more classified details. No one in this realm is privy to ‘that’ colossal incident.

Doctor Aster suffered a moment of existential crisis. It involved yelling about ‘lemons’, ‘meeting life’s manager’, and ‘why is everyme in the multiverse an asshat except me’. He proceeded to question his staff members whether or not he was an insufferable jerk.

…I didn’t expect this to happen. An apology to Papyrus is long overdue.

* * *

Entry 11, July 2. 1330H

My entries have evolved from recollections of previous events to near-live records of the current happenings. It pays to have a fast hand.

At the moment of this writing, I had just finished lunch. Papyrus continued to accompany me. I’m eternally grateful for his presence. Navigating the town’s zaniness would be boring otherwise. When the unusual becomes the norm, it’s lost to the senses.

Doctor Aster appears to have a taste for melodrama. He hugged a glass of ‘Cherry Kool Aid’, lamenting to a colleague. Down the contents went. He grew so drunk that he fell out of his chair.

I questioned Papyrus about the cafeteria serving alcohol. He corrected me that it was soda.

His father. Getting drunk. On soda. I thought I had seen everything during my bartending days. No. That’s a mistake. I shouldn’t be getting surprised by anything anymore.

If I followed my emotions, I would have gone over and whacked him with my cane. Stop being such a public embarrassment in front of your son! Get a grip! Be a respectable man and father!

…But following that through would only hurt Papyrus. Thereby, I resisted the urge.


	3. Video Recording #00004062 - M Thyme Red Magic Demonstration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iron Waffle -- the person who suggested this scenario -- helped me out with explaining how Ebott's Wake's All Fine Lab does their work. He has read both Ebott's Wake and The Golden Quiche up to date, so it really helps. Thanks much!

Video Recording #00004062 - M. Thyme Red Magic Demonstration

07-02-2020 14:32

Interviewer: Doctor Fred Watson Jr.  
Subject: Mezil Thyme  
Profession: Undisclosed, though proclaimed a mage of sorts.  
Dimension ID: UT2-69-GQ7-0

The camera focused on a greyed elder in a black tailcoat, sitting on a folding chair. He kept his black cane grounded and straight before him.

A scientist said: “Mister Thyme, we’re online.”

“Thank you, Doctor Watson.”

“So, um, you negotiated for a week’s expenses for demonstrating your specific magic?”

“Correct,” the man replied, stern and formal.

“That’s not a problem, sir. But… you were quite insistent that it’s something valuable for our study.”

Mezil responded, “From what I understood, magic in this world functioned in quite a different manner. Determination in particular. Nothing more than just the will to keep the body and soul connected.”

“Yep,” Fred nodded. “It’s what allowed humanity to survive whatever the environment throws at us. De-Termination, as we call it around here. Is it different in your realm?”

“Hmph,” the elder huffed. “What you describe are just the bare minimum. Mere survival. True power goes beyond scurrying for scrapes.”

Mezil got up from the chair. He walked around the room, all the while keeping his sight on the scientist.

“The Red Magic I command possesses a general duality to their properties: ‘Time’ and ‘Life’. Both of these are rooted in authority. Some cultures may even call it the willpower of the gods. They are right to an extent.”

“Watch me.”

The elder snapped his finger. He teleported a few steps back. And then he teleport-blinked around until he’s back on his seat.

Astonished, Fred exclaimed: “Whoa! You can teleport with only Determination?!”

“It may be called a ‘teleport’,” Mezil replied, “But it’s not free-directional.”

“Did you imagine a ‘pattern’ then?”

“Hm? No. I anchored specific points of my path with a hidden Mark. It would be more accurate to say that I jumped to my previous locations. Once the path was reversed, I cannot return to that location anymore.”

Mezil snapped his fingers. Nothing happened, proving his point. “That’s one angle of the ‘time’ aspect. With some planning, one could also choose to anchor their locations on a projectile or a thrown object.”

“The rest of my ‘time’ abilities… they’re not demonstrable. Your camera won’t register, even if such powers are accessible to begin with.”

The scientist nodded in amazement. “I understand, sir. Many dimensional travellers report that they’re out of reach of certain abilities. I must say that your methods remind me of video game ‘save states’! Except, only by location.”

“A reasonable comparison. Now. For the ‘life’ side. Would you volunteer yourself for science?”

“Uh, yes?”

Mezil beckoned the scientist to come closer. With his cane, he signalled Fred to sit down on the floor.

“Don’t flail,” so warned the elder, “Unless you want to experience double the terror.”

“Excuse me?”

With only that brief warning, Mezil tapped his cane on the scientist’s forehead.

**“I impose my will to blind you for ten seconds.”**

The symbol of a red butterfly flashed bright. As described, the ‘Mark’ stayed on the victim’s forehead.

Eyes widened, the poor volunteer started grabbing at nothing. “W-who turned off the lights?! I can’t see! HELP!!!”

“It’s just ten seconds. Stay calm.”

Past the tenth second, the butterfly vanished. The scientist blinked a few times before he examined his hands: a sign that his sight returned.

With concern behind his politeness, the scientist asked: “Mister Thyme, what would you have done if I ran around in panic?”

Action speaks louder than words. The top of the cane tapped his chest, and another butterfly appeared.

One short grunt here. A long grunt there. No matter what, the scientist was still stuck in a seated position.

Mezil then said, “Your will desires your body to move, yet you can’t. That’s because my will overrides yours. My Mark prevents your brain from communicating new signals to your motor systems.”

The elder mage dispelled his hold. Doctor Fred Watson Jr -- the most unfortunate employee of the month -- shuffled a few steps away from the caster.

“H-how is this possible?” the bloke muttered, “Isn’t Red Magic just Communication Magic?”

It caught Mezil’s attention. “Communication Magic, you say? Hmm. The danger exists, it seems. Let’s finish the presentation for the conclusion. Have your colleagues prepared what I asked for?”

Fred turned towards the window of observers for a confirmation. Another colleague brought in a carrot on a plate.

Mezil raised a brow. “I expected an apple, but a carrot is a fine test subject too.”

“Doctor Watson. From where I come from, matured Reds have a title: Living Victories. I am one of such.”

“Peaceful Determination stills the heart. Corruptive Determination destroys life. Whenever a person emits serenity or killing intent, they’re projecting their Determination in the form of an aura. When this aura is given a shape and purpose, it takes form as the ‘Mark of Volition’. It is a unique symbol that reflects the caster’s inner self.”

“Curses in particular stem from Corruptive Determination. That is the factor that worries me much, especially if it might be the same in your world.”

Mezil took the plate. He showed the carrot to both Fred and the aide. “A plant is the only acceptable object of demonstration for the worst of curses. Animals are just a step away from humans. Watch carefully. I won’t do this twice.”

Mezil’s irises glowed red. **“I impose my will to pronounce death.”**

His symbol enveloped the carrot. It began to shrivel. Dry. Blacken. Crumbled to dusty ash. They flowed between his fingers and onto the plate. No wonder he asked for a plate.

In a matter of seconds, a healthy carrot was reduced to practically nothing.

Mezil tried to hand the remains back to Fred… but the poor scientist showed no response. So, he gave it back to his colleague instead.

“Doctor Watson, it’s interesting that you mentioned that your Red deals with Communication Magic. I suppose ‘commanding’ is a form of ‘communication’ as well.”

“Can this world’s Communication Magic go to such extremes within your universe? How much do words affect others? Does it depend on subtle and indirect methods, or can it override the lives of others?”

“Please inform your superiors to investigate. Otherwise, this secret might end up in the hands of some criminal scum. It’s better to be prepared than to be ambushed.”

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” He bowed to the scientists. “My wife waits. Good day to you.”

The mage then walked towards the exit on his own.


	4. Gaster and Aster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in a live collaboration with TimeCloneMike. We arranged a time and used Google Docs to type in an RP of sorts. I wrote GQ's Gaster, while he wrote Aster and Frisk. Live feedback can take a story to unexpected tangents.

[The following transcript is the voice recording of Doctor Wendell Dominic Gaster conversing with Doctor Wing Ding Aster]

**GASTER**

Sigh. No good deed goes unpunished as they say. I’m just trying to keep this world secure from goodness knows what threat is out there…

‘All Fine Labs’, hm? I must say that my world missed out on plenty of naming opportunities.

[Gaster dials the correct FUN number based on Mezil’s calls.]

**ASTER**

Hello, you’ve reached the ridiculously realistic simulacra of Doctor Wing Ding Aster who is tired and has a headache and is about to punch somebody in the GODDAMN FACE! How may I direct your call?

**GASTER**

E-excuse me?! I was told that you’re on duty! Would you kindly fulfil your obligations? I know that you may deal with otherworldly shenanigans 24-7, but at least ditch the tardiness!

If we don’t sort this out on schedule I might end up free-falling, or compacted into a ball only one centimeter in diameter, or cause some sort of chain reaction that may or may not result in the premature collapse of my realm. I don’t even want to imagine the possibilities.

Doctor, please answer the call. In person.

**ASTER**

Uh, I did answer the call in person. Could you not tell from my ridiculously realistic appearance and tone of voice?

**GASTER**

Oh. Pardon me. It doesn’t help that the scientists in my world have figured out how to make ridiculously realistic appearances and voices in the metaspace that I reside in.

That aside, it appears that it takes two to make a proper connection between the endpoints. I’m sending over my Functional Universe Number to you right now. Please let me know if there’s anything else that I need to do.

**ASTER**

Alright, fair enough. Data’s coming through on the duplex channel. Sorry for being snippy earlier, it’s just that I’ve only had about eight hours of sleep in the last three days. That sentient virus guy and the half alien hybrid showed up again and got into a fight, which turned into a drinking contest, which turned into an anguished and public declaration of love, so you can imagine the amount of stress that I am under right now.

**GASTER**

Well, sleep is something that I don’t miss, that’s for sure. And it sounds like you had quite a bit of, eherm, drama. The very thing I’m trying to prevent.

…How’s the good sir doing? If I dare to ask.

**ASTER**

The good sir…? Oh, the new guy. Mezil something. He’s in a hurry to get home. I mean, most people are. Emphasis on 'most'. But he likes hanging out with Papyrus, so at least he’s keeping busy… okay. Numbers are coming through. Hey, Frisk, run this over to the portal guys please? Thanks.

**GASTER**

Frisk is assisting you? Peculiar. Anyhow, I am glad that the good sir got along well with your Papyrus. I think out of us Dreemurr Citizens, he trusts that young man the most.

You know… your multiverse connection is one of the key reasons I chose your world. Easy to access, easy to plant, and relatively simple to connect back home from. Though I am told that I had chosen my plan poorly.

**ASTER**

Well yeah. If the lab next door suddenly gets access to the latest in X-Ray Crystallography equipment, you don’t just let yourself in to do an analysis or seven. At the very least you knock first. And while I can’t speak for the guy I kinda think that Mezil fellow would agree on that point. Since he was, you know, the experiment you snuck in to perform in this analogy… What? Oh. Sorry. Frisk says the portal guys are punching in the numbers now.

**GASTER**

Oh, indeed. They’re coming through right now. Goner dear, help Rhymer parse the numbers. Thank you.

A-about Supreme Judge Mezil Thyme, please understand my predicament! I had offered my warnings multiple times, but they were all for naught. They considered my research low-priority. Said something about our world’s metaphysical borders being strong enough. We’re apparently invisible to almost all alternate universes. Emphasis on the ‘almost’, because I did manage to connect to you!

The boss -- who’s our good sir by the way -- refuses to acknowledge the extra-dimensional threat. I need his support to get Sans Serif on the project. He won’t budge unless the higher-ups unanimously agree to my papers.

As for ‘why Sans Serif’? As much as I loathe to admit, he’s the only Monster I trust to get home in one piece.

**ASTER**

Uh… huh. Hey Frisk, what’s that thing that the, uh, comedian says?

**FRISK**

You’re going to have to narrow it down a bit.

**ASTER**

Right, right… uh. He’s got those suits, he’s kinda thin and gangly for a human, and he was the voice of that pig character in that animated Spiderman movie-

**FRISK**

John Mulaney.

**ASTER**

YES! That’s him. He said, “Now, we don’t have time to unpack ALL of that,” didn’t he?

**FRISK**

Yeah, that was him.

**GASTER**

I… have no idea who or what you’re talking about, but I have a feeling that I’m being mocked. Nevermind that. The job comes first.

Please excuse me for a moment.

[Gaster moves away from the recording spot, taking a moment to discuss something with his crew.]

**GASTER**

I’m back. According to my assistants, it’ll take fifteen minutes for everything to be ready for the next step.

…Is it me, or does your Frisk sound older?

**ASTER**

I don’t know, I guess that depends on how old your Frisk is. They’ve been interning here since… well, not right when they learned to use magic, but not long after.

**FRISK**

Mom told me not to give out personal information to strange universes. You said fifteen minutes? Doc, I can go tell the portal guys.

**ASTER**

Good idea. So… how are things in your universe?

**GASTER**

Jolly well, I’d say. We recently averted another premature apocalypse. Business as usual. By the way, the Frisk in my universe just celebrated their 11th birthday.

What about your end? Other than the dimensional shenanigans.

**ASTER**

Can’t complain. The last major existential threat to reality we had to face was back in... hold on a second, gotta do the math… 2016. I have to convert calendar systems in my head sometimes. But yeah. Kept Mt. Ebott from erupting, stabilized the breach so we only have to deal with dimensional rifts on a daily basis, put Jordan Cater away for good, everything after that was easy. Oh, just out of curiosity, have you ever had a, well, crazy cultist show up and try to ruin your whole day?

**GASTER**

‘A’ crazy cultist? My, my, more like a whole society of them! Those anti-magic infidels had plagued The Surface for over a millennium. Goodness gracious. They once executed an assassination plot against our dear King and Queen, and failing that they set the Magi’s headquarters on fire!

…They're lying low for now. Temporary ceasefire. Seems like we managed to garner the respect required for diplomacy.

**ASTER**

Wow. That’s, uh, pretty high up on the Weird-O-Meter. Though the gravity of the situation lends it some seriousness that we didn’t have when the local fake mustache club almost had a civil war here, and that managed to dominate the news cycles even when people were cropping up from other timelines morning noon and night. I swear, there must be something in the water here. Glad to hear things are going… well, stable, I guess.

But seriously, you never had somebody claiming to be Chara’s father show up and steal a machine to give him magic powers and ruin everybody’s good times?

**GASTER**

Huh. How interesting. How very, very interesting. First of all, no. We didn’t have that incident. In fact, Chara died 60 years before the whole ‘Undertale’ incident happened. Their parents were part of the anti-magic society I talked about. For the sin of their child having merged with a monster, they were poisoned upon the orders of their resident god.

Some context. The cultists -- Gungnir -- elect their greatest to inherit the collective wisdom of their DEMON ancestors. As long as the ancestral spirit lingers in the world, their descendants can call upon their True Name to literally download all their knowledge and become a god. 

By this logic, my Frisk had become their deity for the short while that they were channelling Chara. I don’t understand how these cultists think, but I’ll take any diplomatic loophole that’s to my nation’s benefit.

…I take it that Gungnir doesn’t exist in your world.

**ASTER**

Uh… nope. Doesn’t ring a bell. And damn. That makes all the scientific hoops we had to jump through to get Chara and Frisk separated look like assembling lego blocks. I mean… wow. Chara’s gonna get a kick out of this. Asriel too.

**GASTER**

A-Asriel? Prince Asriel?! H-he lives?! I-- I’m so glad to hear that! The prince in my home. He… He insists on calling himself Flowey. I can’t bring myself to do so, but I try to respect his feelings.

Speaking of separation, did you know that it was Judge Mezil Thyme who resolved that issue for us? Chara was… quite a menace back then. They held Frisk hostage and along with it the power of time. Once Judge Thyme had the proper setup, he used a special DEMON-targeting magic and stuffed that child’s ghost into an Ebott Goldenflower.

He may have gone grey, looking like a stern principal… but he’s quite a deadly man. Especially to evil spirits. No. Actually, he’s deadly to anyone and anything. I hope that he doesn’t need to flex his powers during his ‘forced vacation’.

**ASTER**

So far it hasn’t been an issue. Actually I can count the number of really dangerous violent situations involving extra-dimensional travelers on one hand. Didn’t know that he was involved in all that. Honestly, and I say this knowing full well that it’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black, but your timeline sounds insane. So much stuff going on and so many different things cropping up.

**GASTER**

Insane? You’re right, it is indeed terribly insane. What I told you was just the mere surface of the matter.

And then there was Sans. Good lord, Sans Serif. If you knew what he did, you’d get a heart attack.

Oh? Goner? It’s already fifteen minutes? So soon? H-hold it for a while. There's still something I want to ask Doctor Aster.

Eherm, I have a feeling that you already know that my reputation isn’t the most stellar, but if I may… Can I know how you restored Prince Asriel? If you could spare copies of your process, that’s even better!

We’re trying. However, he has already consigned to his existence as a DEMON flower. Frisk’s proposal, though sound, has a high chance of failure. Or perhaps it's impossible to begin with. If there’s anything we could learn from your world to restore him, that may make my possible punishment in the hands of Mezil’s wife all the more worth it.

**ASTER**

Well… first things first. I wasn’t even INVOLVED in Asriel coming back. I showed up about two weeks or so earlier. Maybe three. That whole month has a tendency to run together in my head. So I met a surly Goldenflower, and then it turns out he was the Prince the whole time. Go figure.

What I can do, though, is ask Toriel and Asgore and Chara if they will consent to releasing our files on the process we used to get them their own body again. And if they give the green light, I can send that to your universe, and… hell, maybe it will work, or maybe it will give you a stepping stone in the right direction. We’ve noticed that some other universes have varying fundamental principles and laws involved in how magic and SOULs work, so what we did for Chara might not work for your Asriel. But it’s worth a shot. I will say this up front, you are going to need a metric fuckton of DT Energy.

**GASTER**

Thank you! Thank you so, so very much kind sir! As for DT energy? That’s absolutely no problem. Frisk alone has more DT than a million people combined. That’s just the bare minimum, mind you.

Ah, I should share something in return. What are you seeking to study, Doctor Aster? It may be tricky to get approval for specific time-related technology, but if your realm gains enough brownie points from Judge Thyme that may not be an issue. What to do, he’s the boss.

**ASTER**

We’re actually pretty set for technology. A lot of people show up and trade up or down, and we can reverse engineer most of it once we know what to look for. That said, if we’re going to do a horse trade, if that’s the right metaphor, how about historical and social information? If you could grab a history book or a summary of current events and toss it through the portal after your pal comes back, it would go a long way towards our attempts to map out the local multiverse cluster. Frisk has an interesting theory using an analogy with soap bubbles and oh shit I just got the lights on the control board here. I think we’re ready.

**GASTER**

History books are of no problems at all! In fact, I think Lady Lucidia would be anxious to fulfil such a request.

Goner? A note from Papyrus? Well, I hope it’s good news.

…My boy Papyrus states that if for some reason a Mezil and a Lucidia is born on July 7th, your world needs to be armed with sensitive information. Well then. I certainly hope that’s not the case, because their existence was regarded as an omen back home.

Anyways! Press the button, Rhymer!

[The advanced machinery in the background starts whirring to life.]

[END TRANSCRIPT]


	5. Adventure Journal: Entry 12 - 15

Entry 12, July 2. 1500H

Finally, I have a comm line to my homeworld.

The person who answered the call was not Lucidia, rather it was Papyrus. He’s glad to hear me safe and sound.

We shared our experiences thus far. He thought it was quite the mystery of a tasteless prank.

Lucidia did have a moment of panic. But thank goodness Papyrus prevented a meltdown. Otherwise, in Papyrus’ own words, ‘She might have sent my brother on a parachuteless skydive. Again’.

Papyrus said his Eye can reach me if he uses it in Frisk’s Hub. It appears that wherever I am had some semblance of a connection to The Void. This reveal was part of the major reason why things didn’t spiral out of control back home.

Now… if only I can remember what happened the day before I woke up on those Goldenflowers. I’m hoping they weren’t possessed by DEMONS.

As much as I wanted to speak with Lucidia, Papyrus said she was getting her ‘much needed sleep’.

That’s when I noticed something was off. I’m the one with the nocturnal habit, not her. I asked Papyrus about the time.

It was about 11PM. 2300 hours. Eight ahead of Ebott’s Wake. If the approximate geography between dimensions is in sync with their respective timezones, I am stuck in this world’s version of the Far West.

Great. Just great. Not only am I in the wrong dimension, I’m also on the wrong part of the globe. No wonder the environment appeared so oddly foreign.

I should arrange for a new call eight hours from now. That is, if this establishment opens at midnight. I’ll have to ask the front desk about that.

As a reward for their kind diligence, I had the two Papyrus (Papyruses? Papyri?) talk to each other over the line. It’s heartwarming to watch them gush their hearts out.

* * *

Entry 13, July 2. 1500H

My first order of business was to get some supplies for a week’s stay. I can’t be running around in civilization without a change of clothes and other personal hygiene tools. I’m not as rugged as Gaelic, and I’m certainly not the slob that is Sans Serif.

Papyrus recommended a few places to get goods for an economical price. One involved Joe’s House of Stuff: the largest thrift shop in the ‘Pacific Northwest’. Any necessities that I couldn’t find should be somewhere in the ‘WalMart’ hypermarket.

With my mind no longer focused on the possible troubles of home, I had a better look at the town. It’s… zany. This makes Ebott Town with all its quirks appear normal. Perhaps even sleepy.

The daily happenings here remind me of Cenna’s favourite television series. Something about… Blood Battle Gate? No that’s not it. She always used the untranslated name. It’s… Kekkai… something. Either ways, that setting shared many things in common with Ebott’s Wake.

Interdimensional rifts, checked.  
Colourful monstrous denizens, checked.  
Visitors from the other realms, checked.  
Movies being real, checked.  
Far West, checked.

Chaos and mayhem? Well, I don’t see anything fatal or catastrophic yet. Any and all mischief turned out to be harmless comedy. Furthermore, the town hadn’t devolved into a hive of scum and villainy.

I hope it stays that way.

* * *

Entry 14, July 2. 1600H

Joe’s House of Stuff was something else, alright. It’s stocked with all kinds of secondhand goods: from jewelry to clothes to devices to fantasy weapons to knick-knacks to other odds and ends.

It made sense that the wanderers might need to either pawn off their treasures for extra funds, or exchange them for goods that would be considered valuable in their home realm.

For example: a primitive hunter sold his fur hat to buy bags of cowrie shells. These shells aren’t that valuable in the 21st century, but they’re a prized currency in the ancient world. He could always make a new hat with that amount of money.

Then the next customer -- an urbanite -- sold her phone to buy that same fur hat. A rich handicrafts afficanado, perhaps? Such craftsmanship is a rarity in modern days. Only those with interest in leatherworking and history would produce an item of that nature. Commissions from amateurs won’t be as accurate.

Meanwhile I just handed cold, hard cash for her phone. It’s factory-wiped with the SIM card removed. Good. At least she wasn’t clueless about technology.

Though I usually stay away from used devices for many reasons, I didn’t want to spend more than I needed. The shopkeeper said that this model would just be two years old. An acceptable age if it’s in good condition.

Their technology is expectedly far behind the 2070s. But, it’s enough for photos, videos, and the occasional communication. Papyrus won’t need to show up at my doorstep in the dead of morning anymore.

Buying a cheap coat would only make me look silly, so I settled for something more general… It didn’t take long for Papyrus to make Grillby-related comments.

He then noticed my Arcanagram tattoos showing through underneath the sleeves. I stopped wearing white in public for a reason. In my homeworld, I have to keep these inked weavings a secret.

They’re my weapons, after all.

However, that is not a problem in this land. It’s full of wizards and free of enemies; to them it's nothing unusual to find a magic user strapped to the brim with magical gear.

* * *

Entry 15, July 2. 1713H

Papyrus’ brother, Sans, showed up at the House of Stuff just as we were about to leave. 

We… had a rough start.

Once everything calmed down, Papyrus suggested that we adjourn to a cafe called ‘Das Boot’. They serve good sandwiches, he said.

It gave me a moment’s respite to write this entry. 

Though no offense was taken, my reactions did stir some curiosity. Sans wondered why I reacted so hostile to a whoopee cushion joke. 

I replied by telling them that Sans Serif -- his counterpart -- was once a dangerous enemy. He’s a man of many masks: a zealot born without a complete heart, trained by a foolish mentor to become the ultimate assassin. What a ‘spectacular’ outcome that was.

The topic quickly switched to my writing habits. I was recording every event live, as though I was the book version of Mettaton. What drives me so?

There’s the long answer and there’s the short answer. The short answer would be: ‘for my wife Lucidia to read’.

Enough about me, skelebrothers. Let’s write down about you, your family, and your zany town instead. I said so just when an elf, a dwarf, a human, a beastkin, and a halfling walked into the establishment. (The elf was plain ecstatic to have ‘normal sandwiches for once’.)

Papyrus juggles between ambassadorial work and his daily blogging adventures. I did see his face on certain types of tourism promotional material. Hmm… Would it be a good idea to let him blog about me?

Sans is more or less a scientist for All Fine Labs. Productive work. At least he’s no longer that vague bum of Underground fame.

It appears that their family tree expanded a little. Doctor Aster married a human named Doctor Ross, and they had a human daughter named Garamond (nicknamed Gary). She’s about 2 to 3 years old. Very different from our master Investigator.

Alphys and Undyne had a daughter of their own too. About the same age. She’s an axolotl monster named Leviathan (nicknamed Levi). How does a fish and a lizard result in an amphibian…? Can two females reproduce in this world? Biology seems to be different here.

Undyne kept her gym teacher job at Dreemurr Elementary. Papyrus wished that she could combine her PE routines with counselling. I suppose this means she’s good in two fields.

Doctor Alphys became the head of All Fine Labs. Still an anime nerd, though no longer as spineless as her younger times. She’s a boss, a spouse, and a mother now. They’re all positions that require strength.

Toriel runs Dreemurr Elementary with her husband Asgore as the groundskeeper. His love for gardening knows no bounds: many of Ebott Wake’s landscaping birthed from his hands.

They’re back to good terms with each other? And raising three teenagers? Frisk, Chara, and Asriel.

Chara and Asriel, restored? Could there be a way? All our experiments failed thus far. Could this realm's science hold the key to their restoration? Or, do such possibilities exist only in this world?

Then there’s the matter of Frisk. Their character sounds… different. I won’t know how much until I meet this version in person.

The brothers look at me with glee and curious anticipation. They suddenly want to hear more stories of their alternates. And their friend's alternates. I can't say I blame them. Who wouldn’t want to know?

I put my pen down so I could focus on my tales.


	6. Adventure Journal: Entry 16 - 19

Entry 16, July 3. 0100H

I’m currently in my hotel room.

The laundry, done.  
Necessities, sorted.

And most important of all, I managed to contact Lucidia.

I remember everything now. I was not kidnapped in my sleep. Rather, my predicament derived from the machinations of the grand idiot known as Wendell Dominic Gaster.

I was supposed to meet with Frisk and Sans Serif in the Hub to discuss post-battle cleanup. Which does explain why Lucidia almost dropped Sans from the sky. In actuality, my supposed ‘meeting’ was a farce and the short duo was kept oblivious to the scheme.

Gaster claimed that they were late to the meeting, which set off my internal alarm right away. Before I could react, however, his Goner aides used their magic to put me to sleep. They then dumped me on a bed of Goldenflowers: right on the outskirts of Ebott’s Wake.

Meanwhile, in my Home dimension, The Keys of Fate suffered an unprecedented breakdown. In absence of their previous holder, they -- instead of exchanging hands to the next best candidate -- automatically rewound to Frisk’s last autoSAVE in a last ditch attempt to bring me back. …Before going defunct.

This act of unwitting time travel effectively removed the initial invitation for that meeting. As such, no one had any clue that I was kidnapped until my wife showed up at their doorstep. 

Hmm. It appears ‘De-Termination’ has ‘Marked’ my presence upon this foreign realm. Quite the alarming turn of events, if I do say so myself.

At least I didn’t get ‘copied’ in that last reset…

TimeCloneMez? Perish the thought.

Either way, that fool Gaster claimed that he had made sure that I would end up in a safe world with no problems getting home within ‘a short amount of time’. Unfortunately, that ‘short amount of time’ might be an entire week. Our first birthday celebration in ages, ruined! Did he know how difficult it was to book that restaurant?

Papyrus gave his ‘Uncle Gaster’ a long lecture. Lucidia then whipped that fool to collaborate with All Fine Labs. ‘Get my husband home safe and sound, or else.’ Though I suspect that Gaster was more motivated to appease Papyrus than fearing my wife’s threats.

So here I am, stranded in a land of zany time-crashes. At least it’s peaceful. And I didn’t need to wander around for a decade. Lord knows what would happen back home had that been the case.

P.S:  
We decided to donate the restaurant reservation to Queen Toriel and King Asgore. It’s up to them whether or not they use it for themselves, or give it away to the scaly couple. Whoever gets the opportunity, they better treasure that moment together.

* * *

Entry 17, July 3, 1130H

…Bloody hell. My internal clock shifted forward. I hoped to maintain a diurnal schedule during this ‘forced vacation’. So much for finally having breakfast every day…

Instead, I went back to Das Boot for lunch. Their sandwiches and fries are delicious. 

At Das Boot is also where I can answer many questions. The bar’s decor features ‘World War II’ memorabilia, alongside lengthy explanations of the timeframe, almost akin to a museum. Since I’m alone now, I could study more about this world’s history while I eat. (Refer to Reference 3 at the back of the notebook.)

So, if the northern side of the Far West is called ‘America’, I would originate from the ‘United Kingdom’. Also known as ‘Britain’.

Allied Naval Victories. The Pacific. The Atlantic. Axis Germany. Bombing of Pearl Harbour…

Interesting parallels. Though we do not share the same names or geography, the world events mirror each other with eerie uncanny. 

It appears that Britain was protected by its surrounding waters. Sea and air units were costly compared to infantry and tanks, complicating conquest efforts from the mainland. Instead, in our version of events, a bloody series of ground battles ensued at the border between ‘our’ Britain and the enemy Empire.

The Keys of Fate stood at the center of conflict. Victory depended on their ownership.

As the saying goes: ‘he who controls time, controls the world’.

Sadly, The Supreme Judge of that dark era turned into a DEMON that my father-in-law had to vanquish in person. Many wrongs were never righted due to that DEMON's delusions of a eugenic utopia. By that point, he was no different from ‘The Legendary Hero’. More Gungnir than Magus. More villain than hero.

…History repeats, even as time moves ever onward.

That reminds me of Lucidia’s father said when he first met me: ‘Well then, I guess that is why many cultures believe in reincarnation.’ It’s one of those brow-raising statements with little context.

‘You’re his spitting image’, so he clarified. It turns out that my great-grandfather, William Winston, was one of the officers in charge of protecting the border. I was told he was a hero in the truest sense: a humble man, unconcerned with ideology, who always put the lives of his loved ones ahead of his own.

The Grandmaster wondered if we were related. His hunch was later confirmed when I retrieved the medals and photographs from my parents.

Lucidia thought it sad that the rest of my family members ended up being such wrecks by comparison. What good is the continuation of genes when it’s marred with dysfunction? My surviving relatives had fallen far, far away from a defender’s legacy.

* * *

Entry 18, July 3, 1530H

I asked Papyrus if it’s possible to arrange a meetup with Frisk. I received a ‘YES’ in his most typical positive fashion.

This is where the divergence intensifies. This teenage version of Frisk was different in many ways. More than the town itself, in my personal opinion.

The first key difference lay in their speech patterns. Less peppered with Far East lingo, for one. It’s strange to not have a Frisk that calls me ‘Tsunderjudge’.

The next key difference lay in their mobility. Under Papyrus’ watch, I tested this Frisk’s physical aptitude with an innocuous newspaper roll. They dodged well, but I could see the difference in their methods.

The Frisk I knew had continued to hone their Gungnir Knife Arts. It’s a discipline concealed as a dance, known for its lethal grace. Practitioners will have a certain sense of fluidity. Ebott Wake’s Frisk lacked this refinement.

With that said, this Frisk had far greater affinity for STEM fields: science, technology, engineering, and mathematics. They’re under apprenticeship at All Fine Labs as well. Quite impressive. Meanwhile, the Frisk I know still needs extra tuition on the art of calculation. They’re behind on math. Curious stuff.

In light of my Magus background, they invited me to attend All Fine Lab’s evening magic class. It does make me wonder if there’s anything of note to learn from their magecraft. Lucidia would find it interesting at least.

The first class starts at 1800 hours. I better end this entry and prepare for an early dinner. 

I’ll admit that the notion of class at my age feels rather strange. It’s mere semantics in this case, but it’s been a long time since I sat in a student’s chair.

P.S I still can’t tell their gender. What is it with Frisks and ambiguity?

* * *

Entry 19, July 3, 2200H

‘Aspect Magic’, as I know it, does not exist in this world. While their magic is also a spectrum, and people do find it easier to cast magic of their respective colour, the ‘Aspects’ themselves are different from our own. 

In Ebott’s Wake:

Red = Communication  
Orange = Force  
Yellow = Energy  
Green = Healing  
Cyan = Wave  
Blue = Dimensional  
Magenta = Pattern

Due to these differences, Ebott Wake’s Frisk has the ability to conjure fire. On the other hand, elemental magic is not possible in my homeworld unless one has merged with a monster. I guess that’s why the folks here say: “in magic, imagination is the limit”. If you ask me, imagination requires limits to be functional.

Anyway, today’s class focused primarily on ‘Pattern Magic’, the Magenta spectrum: a nice coincidence since The Purple Aspect is Lucidia’s forte.

From what I understood, Pattern Magic is divided into two main forms. The first form depends on conduits of existing ‘patterns’. Like drawings, cracks, or materials. The second form would be to create new patterns where none previously existed.

The effectiveness of Pattern Magic depends on the caster’s knowledge of relevant physics. For example, if you wish to find something buried, be it treasure or water, you must understand how the molecules of whatever you're looking for react to magic in the Magenta part of the spectrum.

Alternatively, you could focus on the ‘patterns’ of the earth itself for irregularities. A break in the pattern indicates you've found something other than just dirt, although you won't know exactly what's there until you dig it up. It reminds me of sonars to an extent.

The biggest obstacle in the efficient utilisation and analysis of 'Pattern Magic' lies in the sorting of the patterns in question. Too many patterns equate to senseless noise. It's all a little too chaotic for me, although I doubt my beautiful wife would have any issues utilizing this type of magic. She might even find this easy.

During recess, the students requested to see some of my own abilities. In their terms, my speciality would be Communication Magic: to impose one's will upon another…

However, I didn’t want to show the power of Reds before the class. Too many unknowns, not enough security. Therefore, I resorted to my secondary skillset.

I conjured several needle-like projectiles. Patience for focus, Justice for aim. Interestingly, their sensors picked up the correct colour spectrum.

Some assumed that it was a form of crystal magic. Others let their thoughts run wild. I decided to not divulge and let them run with their theories.

Class ended. Papyrus and Frisk invited me to a special double-event. Tomorrow, on the 4th of July, America will celebrate their 'Independence Day'. This year had the rare occurance of coinciding with ‘The No-Legged Race’, whatever that means.

At least I have something amusing to look forward to.

Meanwhile, I wait for the inevitable midnight fireworks. Forget about sleep until the event dies down.

I wonder, will All Fine Labs be the budding shoots of this world’s Magus Association?

Only time will tell. For better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ebott's Wake and Golden Quiche have their own magic lore system. This is a short and surface comparison between the two. Sort of. Remember, the character doesn't always have to be accurate!


	7. Adventure Journal: Entry 20 - 24

Entry 20, July 4, 0830H

Well… I’m not sure if I had much sleep. But I am once again out in the morning. This time, to catch a race.

As stated in the title, it’s a race that bans all forms of footwork. A bike must be hand-cranked, for example. Or the participant had to depend on alternative locomotion such as slithering, crawling, and hand-standing. Hand… running… maybe. Whatever it was, no legs allowed.

That… that certainly didn’t exist in Ebott Town. Goodness, these people. 

I don’t think I have ever spectated a race on my own before. It’s always been on a friend’s invite, only to turn into a mission site. My idea of a leisure time was anywhere but on a track.

Hunting, for example, always makes for a great day. There’s no better prize than a good hunk of cooked meat. Lucidia and Gaelic would agree.

We arrived early to watch the setup of the track. Certain contestants had submitted ‘creative’ solutions to their problems, which required some test runs in the name of safety. Can’t have weird inventions exploding in the face of other contestants after all. Figuratively or otherwise.

One of the most bizarre contraptions involved a platform in the shape of a fish, powered by a hand pump system. With each pump, that facsimile of a piscine makes a flop.

That’s right. The owner intends to win the race by exploiting bounce physics. The idea was so ridiculous that I had to check if I’m not in some ultra-realistic VR game.

Alas, my professional analysis dictates that I was not in some elaborate digital prank.

This was real…

* * *

Entry 21, July 4, 1400H

The best and worst outcome of interdimensional time travel had happened.

I -- Mezil Thyme -- met the younger versions of my own parents.

It happened in the No-Legged race. A familiar man rode the track with a hand-crank bicycle. At that moment, it was not enough to make the connection. It’s rare for children to recognize their parents in their prime. By the time they were old enough to remember, much would have changed.

Then, I heard the announcer say his name: Connor Winston.

I brushed it off as a coincidence at first. Knowing the quirks of alternate dimensions, it could just be someone with a similar face and name. It’s no guarantee that he led the same life.

I had thought so until the race was all done and over with. His heavily pregnant wife and his toddler daughter greeted Connor Winston.

If they kept the same names, those two would be my mother Magdalene and my sister Emelline. That baby in the belly would be… me. 

I slipped away while they were distracted. Later, I asked Papyrus if that family had noticed my presence. He said they only saw my back, yet it was enough to catch some interest.

After lunch, I excused myself for the rest of the afternoon. I didn’t explain the truth to Frisk and Papyrus.

If many factors matched my past, that family is heading towards a dark, ruinous future. Should I let nature take its course, or should I intervene to change their fate? A saving action may not always go in ways intended. As Living Victory, I know this first hand.

I need time to think. Mull. Ponder.

P.S. That damn fish won the race… Never underestimate a cunning exploitation of bounce mechanics.

* * *

Entry 22, July 4, 1700H

My odd behaviour did not go unnoticed. However, it was for all the wrong reasons. Papyrus believed that I was unhappy with the No-Legged Race. Perhaps, he thought, he had chosen an improper event for his guest. Much fretting involved.

Misunderstood guilt is the worst. Before the situation spiralled out of control, I explained my predicament to the skeleton brothers. This Sans seems a little bit more trustworthy, to say the least.

Papyrus then offered to take me to the Dreemurr’s home. That family had gone beyond the impossible, he explained. Prince Asriel regained his body, while Chara’s ghost had converted into a member of monsterkind.

They succeeded without cosmic or political consequences? No accidental eldritch abomination? I was skeptical on that front. But, before anything else could happen… Sans cracked a terrible pun.

‘Hey bro, you’re the perfect skeleton key to solve every puzzle’.

Thanks for complicating matters, Sans. You have broken your brother (temporarily). How is he going to be a guide if he can't even move???

To salvage his poor decision to pun, Sans offered himself to be my personal guide for the next few hours: to get a ‘fresh perspective’ and some history lessons about Ebott’s Wake. It includes a trip to 'Dank Memehaus'.

I’m not sure why he wants to take me there in particular, but we’ll see.

* * *

Entry 23, July 4, 2200H

Roughly a hundred and fifty years ago, Ebott’s Wake served as the crossroads of America.  
A few years ago, it was the sociopolitical crossroads of man and monster.  
And today, it’s the crossroads of whole realms and worlds.

Sans took me to Dank Memehaus: a hybrid of a cybercafe and a bar. Eli is the owner of the establishment. And, to my surprise, Grillby is one of the workers. I expected him to have his own establishment. But, I am no stranger to the nightmare of bureaucratic red tapes. What a shame.

My response had garnered some interest. I explained to them that the Grillby from my home was a former Captain of the Royal Guard. He helped when we needed him the most, and thus commanded my highest respect.

Unfortunately, the Sans of my world had crossed him. Therefore, the skeleton was banned from Grillby’s establishment.

I sensed a great disturbance from this Sans. The thought of being barred from Grillby’s fare must be an unthinkable misfortune for his kind.

Sans later introduced me to a group of humanoids (for lacking a better term) hanging out at a table. He’s a well-known face in town. Not surprising.

One of them was apparently a former deity. His planet blew up, and thus he lost his divine status. He now lives in Ebott's Wake as an ordinary mortal. At least his aeons of management skills did not go to waste.

Then there was a former knight who now makes a living as an instructor. Luckily swordfighting is a valid sport of its own, so he had no problems adapting to the 21st century.

He told me the story of how he came to live here. One day he was caught in an ambush. Fell into a hidden portal by sheer accident. The knight tried to go back, but he discovered that a few hundred years had passed since his apparent death. He wisely chose to stay in the better age. 

The third person was an orc. Green skin and all. You’d think that she came from ye olde days, but no: she came from a planet-colonizing space tech era. Her realm still exists, but she was a poor friendless vagrant without any opportunities. Here, she’s training to be a seamstress. Kind of the last thing you’d expect from an orc.

Sans pointed out that the majority of the café users nowadays were travellers of the otherworldly sort. They rent the internet for knowledge’s sake, studying the science and history of this realm as inspiration for their quests. 

Without doubt, there will be customers who pay for entertainment. But those who’re here for a mission will not waste a precious second. I was reminded of the engineer who passionately tried to draft a workable washing machine for his home’s tech level.

Later, the skeleton took me to a few other spots. I didn’t think they were important enough to write down. Videos and photographs do a much better job when it comes to the scenic side.

Hmph. Some things don’t change between the Sanses. This tour was just a not-so-subtle nudge to the call for intervention. If others are starting their own tornadoes of Butterfly Effects, why should I be so coy? That’s how I understood.

I’m at Ebott’s Wake, the crossroads of second chances… Perhaps my family’s presence was not a mere coincidence.

* * *

Entry 24, July 5, 0000H

I’ve made up my mind. Let the butterfly flap the winds of change. I’m doing this for my other self’s sake. I wouldn’t want him to go through my bull of a childhood.

However, I can’t just walk in and proclaim the fact that I am their son from the future. It may be too much of a shock. Perhaps it’s best that I let their presumptions run their course.

It’s only two days before my birthday. The portal back home should be ready on the 8th. There’s not much time left. Hopefully, this brief encounter will be enough to alter their fate.


	8. Connor meeting Grandpa(?)

Three-year-old Emelline lifted her arms towards her father, expecting to be carried. That was when Connor Winston gulped. Until this point, he always made it a point to pick up his little girl.

Except, now his both arms were as stiff as wood. He could barely lift a mug of tea, let alone pick up a child. The No-Legged race really did a number on his body.

The little girl started to frown. She’s growing impatient.

_Oh no, if I don’t try she’s gonna cry!_

So, the father tried regardless. He squatted to her level, tucked his hands under the girl’s arms and…

…stayed there. His sore muscles doth protest the action.

“S-sorry,” he said. “Daddy’s arms hurt from yesterday’s big race. Maybe tomorrow?”

The girl was not pleased.

“If you want cuddles, Daddy can sit with you by the sofa.”

“Want play,” said Emelline.

_Quick! Think of a game that doesn’t use arms!_

Connor spotted a pile of building blocks at the corner of his eye. “Let’s sit down and play blocks, okay?”

The girl shook her head. “Nooooooo!”

_Yikes, this is getting difficult. There’s no way Maggie could play with her either. She’s due in a couple of days, and the baby is getting restless…_

The doorbell rang. Connor’s first thought was of an old show where the theme sang: ‘saved by the bell’.

Distracted, the toddler ran off to answer the door instead. She always liked this ‘game’. The delivery guy or the mailman would always humour her presence.

Except, this time… a tall skeleton with a red scarf stood at the entrance.

“WHY HELLO, ADORABLE LITTLE HUMAN!” he said, “IS YOUR FATHER HOME? THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD LIKE TO HAVE A WORD WITH HIM, NYEH HEH HEH!”

Connor dropped his jaw. It’s the local famous blogger! Wouldn’t have heard about Ebott’s Wake beyond the news coverage without him.

_Did he come to cover the participants of the No-Legged Race?_

The daughter ran to her father’s side, eager to drag him to Papyrus. She didn’t need to do that. Connor was more than happy to answer.

Putting on the biggest smile, he said: “I’m here. Do you, uh, need anything?”

“WELL, NOT ME PER SAY. A NEW FRIEND OF MINE APPEARS TO KNOW YOUR FAMILY QUITE INTIMATELY. HE’S HERE TO GIVE YOU IMPORTANT TIPS TO SECURE YOUR FUTURE! IN THE MEANTIME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL BE YOUR LITTLE GIRL’S PRIME BABYSITTER! NYEH HEH HEH!”

Not what Connor expected. “Uh. Sure?”

Papyrus stepped aside to reveal the guest in question. Connor couldn’t believe his eyes.

Time seemed to slow down. His brain couldn’t get a grip. After the image pingponged in his brain for a good three seconds, the only response he spat out was a shocked yell.

“GRANDPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!?!?!”

Papyrus rubbed his chin. “GRANDPA? HOW PECULIAR! IS HIS NAME MEZIL THYME TOO?”

“M-Mezil… Thyme…? That’s not his name.”

Connor shook his head. Looking at a second time, he realised that this man had some notable differences.

First, the stranger was somewhat younger than the last photograph of his grandfather. The man before him had fuller hair, lacked liver spots, and had less wrinkles.

Second, the fashion choice. Two main thoughts crossed his mind: ‘fancy 19th century tailcoat’ and ‘vampire’. Grandpa favoured practicality over style. T-shirts, jeans, and other norms of post-war onward. He would never show up in a cravat, let alone wear any piece of jewelry. Even his wedding ring was kept in a safe place: too many peers had lost theirs to the kitchen sink.

Third, it had to be the cane. Grandpa’s sense of pride prevented him from getting the much-needed walking utensil later in life. It took a near-fall for him to finally admit his age. If Connor’s father wasn’t there to catch the incident, he might suffer a broken hip. Old people and fractures are NOT friends.

Magdaline must have heard the ruckus. She hobbled along with her large belly, asking: “What’s wrong, dear? You shouted--”

She too gasped at the visitor. “He looks just like your grandfather!”

Connor was glad that he’s not the only one. “Right?! Right?!? But Papyrus said his name is ‘Mezil Thyme’.”

The stranger confirmed Papyrus’ statement. “Indeed, that is my name. I would like to speak with you about certain matters. Would you let me in?”

Fast forward a few minutes later…

While Papyrus played with Emelline in the backyard, Connor and his wife had some tea with this ‘Mezil Thyme’ fellow.

It’s disconcerting yet exciting: so many mysteries begging to be answered, so many speculations wishing to be confirmed.

Maggie asked: “Why do you want to speak with us?”

Mezil Thyme sipped his tea. Setting his cup down, he replied: “Since you’re in Ebott’s Wake, you’re aware of parallel worlds and assorted dimensions. Correct?”

Connor replied, “Yeah. That’s why we moved here in the first place.”

“Then I’ll tell you this: In a different world and time, I’m a future presence who knows your family well.”

“Oh… so you’re just a family friend in a different AU?”

“AU?” Mezil asked back

“Alternate Universe.” Connor spelled it out.

“If that’s the case, yes. You are correct.”

The couple breathed a sigh of relief.

Mezil raised a brow at their behaviour. “Is there an issue?”

“W-well,” Connor tried rubbing the back of his head. It failed due to his sore arms. “I thought you’re really my grandpa.”

Maggie focused on the stranger’s clothes. “Just to confirm. You didn’t come back from the dead as a vampire, did you?"

Mezil huffed. “What makes you think that I am one of the undead?”

“You asked for permission,” she pointed out. “As a museum curator, I know my lore. Vampires require explicit permission to enter people’s homes.”

“That is correct,” he replied, “However, I am just being polite. After all… vampires value etiquette.”

“So are you a vampire or are you not a vampire?”

“Perhaps it’s more accurate to call me a blood wizard.”

Connor blurted out the worst response: “Are you a virgin?” As a result, his wife executed a backhanded slap on his shoulder.

“Ow!”

“Connor, this is not the time for stupid internet memes!”

Despite the commotion, the guest answered it in a most calm and straightforward manner. “I’m married. Therefore I’m not a virgin.”

The sheer frankness of that reply made the couple blush deep red.

Then, the next close-to-heart question was: “Do you have children?”

“No. Our union is sterile despite our love. We’ve accepted this fact before we agreed to marry.”

What a tragic turn. Connor felt bad about the wizard’s statement. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” said Mezil. “Since you understand the concept of alternate universes, then I’ll get straight to the point. I’m from the future. 2070, to be exact. I have seen where this family had gone and went.”

Connor’s heart quickened.

_The… the future?_

_D-do I really want to know? Am I even still alive by 2070? M-maybe I’m an old prune._

Mezil then added: “I know what you’re thinking. But, the knowledge of the future is too great a burden. I will not say anything about your eventual fates. I come here only to warn you about specific points. And, also to make sure that you have a safe delivery.”

“That’s it?” Connor asked.

The stranger from another world glanced to the side. “It would be nice to hear more about my lookalike. Call it curiosity. Your grandfather, is it?”

“Yup. Give me a moment. I have the perfect thing!”

Connor hurried to his bedroom. As a history nerd, he took it upon himself to preserve the Winston legacy.

He dusted off a photo album. It contained pictures of his grandfather, from his World War II days to his funeral. That should be enough to keep the visitor entertained. The medal show can wait for later.

So Connor returned with the album in hand. He opened it to a family picture where his grandfather was of roughly the same age as the stranger. “Here, Mister Thyme.”

“Thank you,” said Mezil. “Hmm. What was his name?”

“William Winston.”

“I see. If you don’t mind, I’m going to document these for my wife.”

Mezil took out a folded piece of paper and handed it towards Connor. “In the meantime, please read this. Both of you. I’m open to questions once you’re done.”

So strict. Connor was reminded of a stern teacher. Never liked dealing with those. “Oh. Um. Okay…”

Connor and his wife huddled together to read the contents. The very first sentence already stabbed through his heart.

_Start finding a new job. You won’t be employed as museum curators forever. Four years is what I will give. Nine would be your maximum._

_Stay away from anything related to the teaching profession. You’re not cut out for that field and it will leave you miserable._

_Expect one more child._

_Magdalene, it’s fine to be a housewife. Your children will appreciate it._

_Connor, prepare a budget. You’ll need a plan to weather through unemployment with a wife and three children._

_Whatever you do, **STAY AWAY FROM ALCOHOL.** Fail to heed this, and you will die sooner than you are prepared for. Cirrhosis and renal failure are terrible ways to leave._

By the time they reached the bottom, the couple was struck with speechless dread.

Connor muttered, “I’m going to die before 2070? From liver or kidney disease? Wait, I thought you said you’re not going to talk about our ‘eventual fates’???”

Maggie freaked out over something else. “We are gonna LOSE our jobs?!?! And why would I want to be a housewife???”

In which the fancy guest responded: “Answer to question one: yes, you will. Being a museum curator is a niche field. You’re also relatively new. When funding dries up, the oldest staff retire first. The next wave then targets the least experienced. Unfortunately, you didn’t clear the requirement for retention.”

“Answer to question two: is your worth as a person tied to your paycheck? What does your conscience say about leaving your young children in unknown hands?”

The wife keened with irritation at first. After simmering down, she admitted: “Being a housewife bores me out of my mind.”

“You sent your daughter to a babysitter?”

“Yes.”

In which the stranger said, “You had committed extra expenditures to a stranger who cared more about the money than your daughter. An unwise decision to make. Madam Magdalene, being a housewife doesn’t mean that you have to spend all your time on childrearing. You can still maintain your passion.”

“…Also, your future self regretted not seeing your children grow. They flew the nest before you were forced to retire as a teacher.”

Maggie unconsciously caressed her belly, conflicted over the news. On one hand, she didn’t want to believe. On the other hand, she feared for her future.

Connor leaned forward over the table. “Mister Thyme. About. The alcohol. Does it have anything to do with… um… the complications you listed?”

“Yes,” so Mezil answered. Frank as ever. “Neither of you were happy being teachers in the public school system. Low pay, long hours, unreasonable demands, and uncooperative children: all these contributed to fatigue. With fatigue comes an unmanaged household, and with it more pressure to drown your sorrows. And drown them you did.”

“Why didn’t we quit?” Connor asked.

“You couldn’t,” he replied, “The bills had to be paid somehow. You end up getting trapped in debt. That is why I insist that you start budgeting right now.”

Both husband and wife uttered a long, quiet ‘errrrrrr’.

The grumpy stranger heard them loud and clear. Narrowing his gaze, he asked: “Do you even know how to budget at all?”

Maggie stammered. “W-we do set aside money for necessities.”

“Do you know how much spare money you have every month?”

She couldn’t answer. On that very instant, Mezil shot his focus at Connor. “How much does that hand-crank bike cost?”

Connor lowered his head, trying to hide the shame. “A-about… 1k…? I built it over a few months, soooooo…”

Mezil Thyme -- the possible vampire -- closed the photo album and pushed it aside. He ripped a blank page from his notebook in slow deliberation, seemingly trying his hardest to contain his increasing ire.

“Fortunately for you,” he said, “I have experience in accountancy. Bring every bill, statement, and receipt in the house. We shall make a budget right here, right now.”

“What about digital records?” asked Connor.

“Start logging into your accounts. Print if you have to. I will not leave until we have a feasible plan.”

“But we don’t keep every receipt.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll work with existing records.”

“But--”

**“Do it.”**

Connor whimpered. “Yes, sir.”

With the excuse to hunt for scattered records of money, both husband and wife escaped from the table. Not even the weight of Maggie’s pregnancy kept her seated.

“I’m sure of it. T-that man is a real vampire!” Said Maggie, keeping her tone hushed. “He requested explicit permission, wears fancy clothing, and is an accountant. Vampires are BORN accountants. Money math is their lifeblood! I-I think we have fresh cloves of garlic in the pantry.”

The husband tried to cheer her up. “Hey, that’s not too bad. W-what better creature to solve our budget woes? I’m sure we can appease him with a blood sausage later.”

Pouting, the wife warned: “Don’t come crying to me when he discovers your beloved jalopy.”

True terror descended upon Connor’s heart.

“Oh no. Not that! Anything but THAT!”

Unfortunately, Mezil Thyme was as meticulous as his fashion. In the midst of his accounting work, he noted a ‘mysterious’ deficit. Following the trail led him to the garage. There… he discovered the jalopy in question: a rusty 1969 Firebird.

“…Connor Winston,” so said the man. “Are you telling me that you spent your remaining migration budget on an ancient piece of junk?”

“T-that’s not a piece of junk!” Connor doth protested. “It works! A-and I got it quite cheap for such a rare model--”

“That costs as much as a two-year second hand car in good condition.”

“That’s why I said it’s cheap. It usually costs as much as a brand new car!”

“Have you maintained it?”

“Not yet. I hear this guy Hal is the best mechanic in town. I’m gonna take the car there, I promise!”

The man said: “What if this sorry piece of an untested ride breaks down in the middle of the road? What if the brakes fail? What if something happens in this zany town and you need to flee?”

In Connor’s mental imagination, Mezil Thyme had morphed into a tall, angry monstrous shadow with glowing red eyes. Add a thunderclap or two in the background.

**“Have you thought this through, Connor Winston?”**

Maggie arrived with an invoice in her hand. “Hold it right there, Mister Vampire! I won’t stand you bullying my husband like that. Read this first.”

Mezil shifted his focus. The terrible image wooshed away, bringing Connor back to reality.

_My dear wife, thank you for the distraction!_

“A midwife service. You intend to give birth at home?” asked Mezil. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Maggie replied, “In 2019, mothers in American hospitals are twice as likely to die in childbirth compared to the previous generation. The quality of maternal care took a big nosedive! If I really need medical aid, I’d rather go to Ebott Wake’s Rita Belle Thurman Memorial.”

“Medical services are better there?”

“You bet!” Maggie nodded proudly. “They use healing magic to boot. Proven to help speed recovery.”

“Hmm. I understand. I have my own shortlist of trusted medical centres as well. It’s not too far, I hope.”

“It’s close enough for my husband to cycle there if he needs to.”

With some skepticism, Mezil said, “…The one with the hand-crank.”

“Yes. It’s still a valid vehicle.”

Connor could feel the cringe radiate in his arms. It’s bad enough to race on his own weight, let alone hurry with an additional passenger… or two.

_Maybe the vampire is right. …I didn’t think this through._

* * *

So the long, gruelling budgeting work resumed…

At least the couple wasn’t involved in the calculation itself. After they provided all the materials he needed, Mezil let them free to resume their life. Told them that they just needed to sit through the final explanation.

Meanwhile Papyrus had played with Emelline so much, she fell asleep. The skeleton’s boundless energy outlasted a toddler. Indeed, he’s a legend of his own.

_This might be my chance--_

Chance denied. The local celebrity was sent away by Mezil Thyme to deliver a letter.

Now he grew curious. Connor asked: “What did you write there?”

Mezil replied: “My wife should have records surrounding the birth of your second child. Considering the similarities with your alternate counterparts, I can use that as a rough prediction of how things might proceed. It’s dangerous to take such as absolute canon, though. One may never know where a divergence begins and ends.”

“Oh, I see.”

The man resumed working at the table for another few hours. He’s got tremendous patience for the task at hand. Other than stretches, water, and the occasional bathroom break, Mezil Thyme never left his workspace.

Once the toddler woke up from her nap, it was time to wash her up and watch TV. Connor had learned to tune out the repeating episodes by now.

A delivery man rang the doorbell. This time, his wife Maggie answered.

It’s a food shipment of both meat and blood sausages. Just the thought of blood was enough to make his stomach twist.

“So…” said Connor, “That’s dinner, huh?”

Maggie pouted. “The blood ones are for our guest. Did you know how lucky we are to get them at all?”

“Thank god. And yes I heard it’s not an American fare.” Here he thought that she was about to get adventurous. It happened quite often during her craving phase.

“If he rejects it…” she added. “Then we’ll have to cover our embarrassment by making a mixed sausage platter.”

So, so many bad luck rolls on this day.

Nudging with her shoulder, Maggie insisted: “Go and ask him how he likes his food made.”

“Me?!” exclaimed Connor. “Why?”

Hugging her belly, Maggie rocked her hips in a coy manner. “You don’t want our son to get too close to a mythical bloodsucking creature, right? Right?”

How could he argue against that? Though he’s sure that the guest was not malicious, he understood her reservations.

Breathing a big sigh, Connor relented. “Sure, sure. No problem.”

“That’s my brave hubby~” Then she pecked a kiss on his cheek.

Well, his day just improved a little. So off he went to talk with the guest.

_Wow. He looks pretty tired. But damn, he’s so determined._

“Mister Thyme?”

Mezil paused his work to answer Connor. “Yes?”

“The missus is making dinner for you tonight. Are you okay with blood sausages?”

“Hmm.” The man mused for a moment. “Yes, I’m fine with them. Thank you for the meal.”

“How would you like them prepared?”

“Pan fried, accompanied with a condiment of minced raw garlic and fresh chillies in black malt vinegar.”

Connor’s mind went blank from the logic error.

_A vampire? Asking for raw garlic? And fresh chillies?_

And so the young human blurted: “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Mezil blinked twice, puzzled by the statement. “I’m not asking for a quantity that’s going to punish my bowels. Just enough to give me a kick for the last leg of your budget.”

“You’re fine with salt too, that means.”

“Of course.”

_Ah. I see now. He must be a higher-class vampire, unaffected by puny spices. Indeed. Not even holy water can hurt him._

_Connor oh Connor, how did you become family friends with such an epic powerful being?!_

* * *

It’s 11PM. Mezil Thyme had left to return to his temporary residence. Said he’ll be back on the 7th to greet the baby.

He didn’t give Connor his phone number.

The five-year budget plan ended up becoming a makeshift book. Duct tape bound the loose pieces of paper together. The plans were sorted by year, with explanations on how to maintain that budget.

Emergencies, rewards, alterations and variations… they’re all noted down.

_Man, talk about thorough. He really knows how to do his job._

Connor began sorting through the leftover paper pile with his stiff arms.

“Connie?” Maggie had finished doing the dishes, it seems. “What are you looking for?”

“Remember how Mezil ripped a page off his notebook?”

“Oh, that’s right.”

Connor smiled with a hint of nostalgia. While pushing the papers around, he said: “Grandpa used to do that too.”

There it lay, half crumpled from all the numbers and text scrunched on it.

“Wow,” he commented, “Reminds me of university days.”

Maggie squinted at it. “The numbers or the crunched handwriting?”

“Both,” answered Connor. “Guess that’s why it didn’t make the final cut. It’s a waste to throw this away though…”

So he taped the draft on the last page of the book. That will serve as a nice reminder of this strange day.

Out of the blue, his wife snapped her fingers and yelled: “AHA! That’s it!”

That startled him. “Shh, Emmy is sleeping. But, what’s what?”

“What if Mezil Thyme, the vampire, just doesn’t remember his past life as William Winston? Dying is one heck of a way to lose your memories!”

Husband and wife both went ‘OOOOOOOH!’ at the same time.

“That explains everything!”  
“I’m so happy that he looked out for us post-memory wipe.”  
“That means his bond to your family is suuuuper strong.”  
“Why didn’t he use his vampireness to look younger though?”  
“Maybe he thinks that we won’t take him seriously if he’s too young?”

And so, the headcanons about Mezil Thyme continued throughout the night.


	9. On the day of birth

The 6th of July may be the most mundane day of this misadventure. Mezil Thyme did not bother with sightseeing anymore. He wasn’t in the mood for it. Instead, he ended up with the following quiet day:

Breakfast.  
Did some stretches and pushups to wake up.  
Checked in for mail at Alphys’ Lab. They had turbulence in the rifts. Slow mail, expected. Direct calls, impossible.

Lunch.  
Headed to the local shooting gallery to sharpen his aim.  
Complained about the bloody summer heat.  
Hid in Dank Memehaus for shade and internet access.

Dinner.  
Ran a good jog in the fresh country air. No one batted an eye to the magical inkwork etched into his skin. Here, he was just another jogger. The privilege of having anonymity: something he had long lost in his original realm.

Supper.  
Checked for mail at Alphys’ Lab again.  
Nothing.  
Went to bed with anxiety.

Now, it’s the 7th of July. Noon. Mezil was dressed in his usual ‘vampire-esque’ uniform, ready to get going at a moment’s notice.

_It’s been more than twenty-four hours._

_Is everything alright back home? Frisk and Team Ebott should be able to handle my unintended absence. Hopefully. Be damned if Gaster ruined the peace._

_…I’m more worried about my mother. The one from this world._

_I can’t help but feel that I’m forgetting something important._

He sat down beside the window, gazing out into Ebott Wake’s scenery. It was a beautiful, beautiful place: a town where nature and civilization still coexisted.

Mezil did not have the fortune to grow up in such a place. What he remembered of his home was the colour of man-made buildings, the smells of wayward trash, and the sounds of traffic. Nature only concentrated in parks.

To think that his alternate self would live in such freshness… That’s good, provided the sky doesn’t open up and rain down all sorts of netherworldly creatures.

_…Perhaps I should go to the Lab again._

Someone then knocked on the door. Mezil’s first instinct was to expect an armed intruder, but he soon remembered that he’s in a different realm. Old time-looped instincts die hard.

The visitor -- this world’s Sans -- carried a parcel with a bright red ‘URGENT’ message stamped on the cover.

Sans said, “I dunno what’s up, but I think this is serious business. There’s writing all over the package.”

It’s in Lucidia’s handwriting, insisting that the contents should be delivered on the 6th itself. She did not trust the mail staff to take the stamp seriously. It’s never good if she was this paranoid.

When Mezil accepted the parcel, one underlined sentence made his heart sink with dread.

It read: ‘Estimated Time of Death.’

* * *

While watching the noon news, Connor wondered where Mister Vampire went. He was supposed to get some data about Maggies’ pregnancy… but he didn’t return.

_…I wonder what his job is? Does his wife work in the data field? The Facebook of 2070?_

_No way! He ain’t a Zuckerberg, that’s for sure!_

_Come to think of it… I should have exchanged phone numbers. Now I can’t even tell him that the midwife is going to be a little late today. That skeleton just welcomed his firstborn daughter this morning._

The young father smiled at the thought. It brought him back to the day when he first received little Emelline in his arms. How his heart swelled with joy.

Maggie groaned as he walked towards the couch. She looked more exhausted than usual.

Connor asked, “Honey? You okay?”

“No,” she muttered. “I felt some cramps this morning, but my water hasn’t broken yet. I think the baby is arriving soon…”

“Do you want to lie down?”

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.”

The husband helped his wife get comfortable. “What do you want for lunch?”

Maggie grumbled. “I don’t want to eat. Nauseous…”

“How about some water?”  
“Sure. With some honey.”  
“Honey for my honey, coming right up!”

Connor went back into the kitchen to make the requested drink.

_Maggie seems more tired than usual. Is that normal? Maybe I should call the midwife…_

In the midst of his pondering, the doorbell rang. Incessantly. Someone kept pressing the button and refused to stop until it’s answered.

It stopped. Not long after, little Emelline ran for her father.

“Daddy!” she said, “It’s the fancy vampire! I thought they're scared of the sun?”

Mezil was finally here. Connor left the cup of honey water on the counter to greet his visitor.

“Hi?”

In the sternest alarm, the ‘vampire’ asked: “Where’s the madam?”

“Maggie? She’s sleeping on the couch.”  
“She’s not sleeping.”  
“Huh?”

Mezil wasted no time. He slipped past Connor and forced himself into the house, making a beeline to Maggie’s side.

“W-what in the--” Though he knew it’s irrational, Connor wanted to punch Mezil for the rude entry into his house.

But Sans the skeleton stopped him. “My bro is on the way. He’ll get you to the hospital faster than an ambulance.”

“H-hospital?! Why?”

Sans did not answer. Instead, he said: “Pass the message to the old man for me.”

Confused and frightened, Connor rushed to his wife’s side. He found the elder trying to wake his wife.

“Madam Winston!” he said, “Madam Winston, can you hear me? Wake up!”

Opening her eyes, Maggie muttered: “Honey, the lights… turn them on…” She went limp at the end of her slurred, delirious complaint.

“Madam Winston!”

“Mommy!” The little girl tried to shake her mother, realising that something went horribly wrong.

Turning to the stunned Connor, Mezil yelled: “Did you call the ambulance yet???”

“P-Papyrus is on the way.”

The other relaxed his face. It’s just a tiny bit, but it’s noticeable. “That’s a fine alternative.”

Connor knelt down beside the couch. “Maggie? Maggie answer me! What’s wrong? Maggie!”

“Acute high blood pressure,” Mezil said, “It’s developing into preeclampsia. She went blind before she fainted.”

The word ‘preeclampsia’ struck terror into Connor’s heart. He heard about that complication during his parenting course, but he never thought his wife would be affected. She was nowhere near the high-risk groups. 

Yet, it still happened.

Connor blurted, “Are you a doctor? Or your wife maybe?”

“I’ll explain later. We need to get her to the hospital ASAP.”

Car tires screeched outside. The town’s famous local blogger had arrived. They weren’t kidding about the speed.

Mezil’s arms lit up with magic. The streamlined, angular lines reminded Connor of electronic circuitry.

“I’ll carry Madam Winston to the car,” said the vampiric magician. “You bring Emmy along.”

That’s right. Connor can’t leave his toddler home alone. So the father picked up his daughter, despite his still sore and tired arms from the silly race.

So the whole family boarded the cool skeleton’s car and zoomed straight to Rita Belle Thurman Memorial.

* * *

Though Maggie had yet to wake up, she’s in stable condition. The worst had passed.

Connor and Mezil sat down in the hospital cafeteria. They both stared into the dark depths of their cup of coffee.

Papyrus kept Emelline occupied with impromptu toys made out of paper cups. As for Sans, he watched from the sidelines.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Mezil showed Connor a report.

“I’m sorry,” said Mezil. “The report arrived late due to technical difficulties.”

“In my world. Magdalene Winston would be working in the museum. An observant colleague noticed something was wrong and called for help. It was a close call, considering the disadvantages of distance and technology. I’m surprised she survived at all.”

“In this world, she was home. Since she didn’t show much outward signs, it was easy to think that it was just fatigue. I don’t think she’s aware of it either.”

Connor’s head sank, dejected and guilt-ridden. “I should have noticed it sooner… she complained about labour pains and nausea…”

“Those are too common to be taken as clear signs. Please, don’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”

An accident?... Conner couldn't help but wonder. Was there truly no one to blame?

“Hey,” said Connor. “If… if you’re such a close friend to my family… why didn’t you remember this? You didn’t need to ask your wife if you already knew Maggie was going to end up this way!”

“Are you trying to kill them? Drain their blood?! Steal their souls?!? I shouldn’t have invited you into my life!”

It was an irrational conclusion. Connor knew it, yet he lashed out those thoughtless words in his turbulence.

Mezil Thyme, the mysterious vampire, remained as stoic as ever. It’s tempting to splash hot coffee on THAT face. After all, if he was indeed a mythical creature in the flesh, he would regenerate just fine.

But that was just a fantasy. He didn’t want to raise a ruckus in public, more so in front of his daughter.

“Connor Winston,” so said Mezil, “No one remembers the day of their birth. The same goes for me.”

“Duh! I know that too!”

Without saying anything else, the vampire left the table with the coffee still in hand.

“Come back here!” Connor now regretted not acting on his anger.

Sans stepped in. “Whoah, hold it right there. He’s not like what you think.”

“Are you gonna defend him?” the human huffed.

“Nope. But if you’re willing to lend an ear, I’ll let you in on a little secret about that fancy guy. Wanna listen?”

A juicy tidbit about the vampire? Maybe Sans knew his one true weakness? If Connor wanted to plant a stake into an immortal creature’s heart, he better gather all the secrets.

So the human leaned forward. “Okay, I’m listening.”

The skeleton whispered the following words straight into his ear: “Mezil Thyme is Mezil Winston, your son from an alternate future.”

For a few seconds, Connor’s brain cells zapped at twice the usual rate. They tried so hard to process what he had just heard.

Dumbfounded, the human muttered: “Wait. Did you say... From where? Excuse me???”

“Think about it,” said Sans. “Nobody remembers the day they’re born. He knows about this twist as much as you do: which is zilch. So, lay off the accusations a bit. Ok?”

Connor dropped back on the cafeteria seat. Stuck between two fantastical premises, he didn’t know what he ought to think anymore.

“Welp. I’m gonna let you contemplate. I’ll be with Papyrus if you need anything.”

* * *

Away from his father, Mezil vented his frustration with a discreet punch against the wall. It was just enough force to punish his shortcomings without catching too much attention.

Of all the times, of all the things, he had to overlook the most urgent danger to his mother’s life. She needed this knowledge the most. And yet… he was almost too late.

How? He wondered. How could he have forgotten what happened on that day? How could he have forgotten... the meaning of his name?

Recent events stirred those memories so vividly...

A long, long time ago, there was a dying mother. She lived her remaining days in a hospice. 

Her son stayed by her side. Except he did not do so out of filial piety. The mother had long become a stranger for the son. Their relationship had become one of mere titles.

At least, that’s how the son felt.

Why then did the son take the whole week off? He told himself that it’s to tie loose ends. Yet deep down, his inner child had a simpler reason: to be with Mom for a little while longer.

_“Will your wife come to visit?”_

Later, said the son. When the time is right.

_“I still can’t believe you’re married. You never invited me to your wedding…”_

It’s complicated.

_“And what’s with your tattoos? You think I didn’t notice that? Pull back your sleeves, right this instant! Since when did you become a delinquent?”_

The son didn’t want to start a fight, he caved into his mother’s orders.

_“That’s… very techno-wizardy. Cyberpunk, I think. Is this compulsory for your job?”_

Yes, the son replied. To some extent. A Magus will have the choice of depending on enchanted tools, or have supportive spells installed straight into their being. He chose the latter.

Tools can be lost or taken away. It’s not as secure as a body installment.

_“I see. That can’t be helped, then. You’re always the hardcore type too.”_

_“Say… Your wife is not a human, isn’t she?”_

He tightened his shoulders.

_“I’m a historian first and foremost, young man! I’m not as scatterbrained as your father either.”_

_“No one has ever seen a member of House Berendin without a mask. And who wears masks? The Sages! Rumours say that they went all-out to hide their true monstrous form.”_

The mother sighed.

_“My only capable son has a cross-species kink. I don’t know if I should be curious or furious.”_

The son told her to not let the daughter-in-law hear that. Disapproval was the last memory she needed, more so on such short notice.

_“Sorry. I can’t imagine that her people unanimously accepted it either.”_

_“…Mezzy. Since you’re in The Magus Association, you must know about the original Lord Berendin. Right?”_

Correct.

_“Did you know why I chose his name for your own?”_

No, replied the son.

_“Well. There are many myths speculating about his mysterious return. I don’t know which is the truth, but they all have one thing in common: he should have been looooooong dead. We’re talking years, honey.”_

_“Yet, he came back to life! Sort of. Being seriously injured and suddenly vanishing is about as close to a ‘true’ death it gets.”_

_“I had a sudden complication right before you arrived. If my colleagues didn’t help, we wouldn’t be here today. So… that’s why I thought Lord Berendin's name fits. We both had such a close brush with death.”_

Why didn’t she name him after the Redeemer, then?

_“That would be TOO obvious! You would get bullied to no end! I wouldn’t be able to live it down naming my kid after an actual deity. Besides, I wanted to maintain the theme. Known local nobles only!”_

The son thanked her for the consideration.

_“Finally, some actual respect~”_

_“………………”_

_“You know… One moment, I was holding you in my arms. And the next, you’re an adult. Waiting for the final goodbye. If I had a second chance, I would choose the way of a housewife. Watch the three of you grow up day after day.”_

_“Mezzy, will you forgive this failed mother?”_

The son wrestled with his emotions. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t have mixed feelings. On one hand, their poor life choices caused much stress. On the other hand, it was all in the past.

He told her to wait for a moment.

_“Okay?...”_

The mother, puzzled by the change of topics, waited patiently nonetheless.

First, he closed the curtains. Then, he told the bodyguards stationed outside to not let anyone inside. Nurses and doctors included. No one may pass without his explicit permission.

And just to make sure no one could barge in, he discreetly planted a Mark on the door's locking mechanisms. Commanded them to stay stuck. Not even the right key will work on them at the moment.

_“W-what are you doing?”_

He didn’t reply. There was no need to do so. She will get her answer soon enough.

Towards a seemingly empty corner, he reached out his hand. It’s fine, he said. There’s no need to hide.

Out from the veils of invisibility… the dear wife emerged. She released the hand of her invisible bodyguard and took the husband’s.

The expression on dear mother’s face was priceless.

_“Am I dreaming?”_

No, said the son. And didn’t dear mother want to meet her daughter-in-law? Here she is.

Mezil had never seen his mother so excited before. Maybe he did once, but he was too young to remember it. The marks of toil and sickness seemed to have instantly vanished when she welcomed Lucidia.

_“So you’re my son’s mysterious wife! Mhmm, mhmm. That’s a well-crafted mask. Definitely a House Berendin trait.”_

The wife looked at her husband, unsure. He told her not to worry. She can take off her mask; it’s only polite for her mother-in-law to see her true face.

Though still nervous, Lucidia removed her mask before Magdalene.

_“Oh my god, you’re soooooooo beautiful! Adorable, even. Like a sugar skull. Come, come. Sit down next to me.”_

The son let them talk in their own space. At first, he observed for any signs of distress. But as time went on…. he found himself caught up in their conversations. The meeting between the two in-laws went well. It was the complete opposite of his introduction to Lucidia’s biological mother.

Out of the blue Lucidia expressed her desire to save her mother-in-law. The abrupt declaration snapped the son out of his daze. It startled the mother too.

Lucidia oh Lucidia, always so poised until her heart couldn’t take it anymore.

The mother tried to soothe her daughter-in-law.

_“Dear, you can’t do anything. I know… I know people with a drinking history are barred from the liver transplant list.”_

That didn’t deter Lucidia from trying. Grow a new one based on the recipient’s cells, she insisted. Try other methods. Advanced Magitek would also be an option, moreso now that her son is the Supreme Judge of the Magus Association.

Lucidia just didn’t want her mother-in-law to die just when her son had forgiven her.

_“…Ooooooooh! Now I understand. That’s such a roundabout way to do things. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Are you really that shy around your own mother, Mezzy?”_

Yes. Yes, he was that shy. It’s extra awkward because she is his mother.

It’s… personal.

The mother embraced her son with a warm, big hug. Her voice cracked from the tears.

_“My dear son… thank you so, so much.”_

He hugged back.

Truth be told, the son doesn’t know if they had enough time for advanced treatment. An organ transplant was the only fast way to get her out of danger. To make matters worse, his own application as a donor came back negative. 

However, those are problems for the future. His mother was happy at present. He thought it’s best that he let her enjoy this moment in bliss…


	10. Father and Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My feeling when one missing "/" symbol in the HTML messes up the whole document. I didn't realise that until I tried to post an fanfiction.net mirror.
> 
> It's fixed now. Sorry for the error!

At a quiet corner of the hospital, a swarm of glowing crimson butterflies circulated around the caster, Mezil Thyme. The feedback resulted in the same dead end no matter how hard he tried.

_**[ERROR: FILE NOT FOUND]** _

_Just as I suspected: the Keys of Fate won’t function in this dimension..._

_Sigh. What good it is to steal my own soul? My father’s silliness knows no bounds._

_I suppose I should go and check the bill. Insurance is a fickle matter. If I’m in my home territory, paying the full cost wouldn’t be a problem. But here… I’ll have to arrange something. Somehow._

Now for a long trek to the lobby. Along the way, he stopped at the path that would lead back to the cafeteria.

_……………_

_I don’t think now is a good moment to meet my father yet._

Therefore, he resumed his journey. Once there, he received a copy of the bill without any issues. Judging from the budgeting session, the Winston family’s health insurance covered only half of the payment. That’s not counting the actual birth and postpartum costs yet.

_…Well. If he didn’t participate in the race, he would have at least a thousand extra._

_What else can I sell to All Fine Labs? Rare metals are pointless, and so are magic batteries. Technology? One Intensive Recovery Pod? No, that’s too expensive. Besides, I can’t explain how a whole piece of equipment could vanish from The Spire without a trace._

_Perhaps a copy of the schematics would do. Let this Doctor Alphys reverse engineer the science for local application._

A man called from behind. “Excuse me, sir?”

Mezil Thyme turned around. “Yes, can I help you?”

At that moment, time seemed to freeze for Mezil. Of all the possible monsters to meet in this zany world, he least expected to bump into this person.

...It was Lucidia’s father.

He’s a man with a great heart for children: well known for his meticulous care even for the most difficult of cases. What irony for him to have a wife whose heart strayed in the opposite direction, who treated her offspring as extensions of her personal dreams.

“Sir?” he asked again. “Are you Connor Winston’s friend?”

Mezil asked back: “Is your name Palatino?”

The skeleton blinked in surprise. “Yes. I’m Magdalene Winston’s midwife.” 

_Huh… They’ve been on the surface for at least four years then._

Looking at the bill, Palatino asked: “Are you paying for him?”

“If possible, yes.” Mezil replied. “Where’s Connor?”

“Mister Winston is taking his daughter to the babysitter. He told me to correspond with you in the meantime.”

_Hmm? After that nasty vampire accusation?_

_…Not a bad turn of events. I want to know more about my mother’s condition anyway._

“How is Madam Winston?” the man asked.

“She’s stable for now,” Palatino replied. “Her blood pressure is back to normal, and the baby is getting adequate oxygen. Doctors have put her under close monitoring for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Should we request a cesarean?”

The monstrous midwife shook his head. “Since her pregnancy is beyond 37 weeks, I wouldn’t recommend it. Natural labour is preferred whenever possible. Major surgery risks infection and other related complications.”

“What if the baby happens to be late?” Although Mezil knew it wouldn’t happen, he thought to ask out of curiosity.

“We’ll induce labour.”

“Can she survive the strain?”

The midwife smiled. “When she contacted me, Missus Winston insisted on a seated birth. I’m one of the few who know how to do it. Gravity should help her plenty.”

_Everything matches Lucidia’s notes thus far. Apparently, the same arrangements were made in my world…_

Mezil bowed to the skeleton. “Thank you for your thorough care.”

“No problem at all.” For a moment, Palatino looked at the human with great curiosity. “You are… not a vampire. I’ve met true vampires in this town. They have a particular aura. Yours is… different.”

What an interesting turn of events. “Huh. You’re the first to think so. Yes Mister Palatino, I’m a true human. Biologically, at least.”

Palatino’s sockets widened, intrigued. “Is that so? That explains the mixed signals. You’re covered in a strange magical shell. In fact, I thought you were a monster at first.”

“This town is full of otherworldly wizards, warlocks, and mages. I don’t think I’m that unique.”

“Oh no, no. It’s nothing like those either. You have a vibe similar to… skeletons? My species, I mean.”

_Well, I am after all decked in The Code from my clothes to my psychia. Comes to show how far I’ve drifted away from the standard ‘human’._

_I wonder if Sans and Papyrus noticed that same oddity? They’re not Seers in this world. Could it be the reason for their immediate affinity…? No. Sans is Sans, while Papyrus is The Great Papyrus; he will always help a person in need._

_…The lack of a Seer’s Eye is for the better anyway. Not every version of that youth needs to bear the same kind of burden._

Later, they went to visit the pregnant mother. After a short interview, they discovered that she already suffered from symptoms since morning. Her ignorance had confused the omen with standard labour pains.

Palatino apologized: “Missus Winston, I’m sorry that I couldn’t come any sooner.”

The woman shook her head. “It’s fine Mister Palatino. I was the silly goose for not watching out. I’m nowhere near the high-risk group, so it never crossed my mind.”

Rubbing the belly, she frowned with worry. “My little boy is alright, I hope.”

“He’s more resilient than you’d think,” Mezil reassured.

Giggling, Magdalene teased: “You talk as if you’re the kiddo.”

_Technically, that is true._

Mezil ignored her cheeky statement. Instead, he said: “Please forward your thanks to Sans and The Great Papyrus. You’re here due to their timely intervention.”

The midwife tilted his head. “Are you going to leave yourself out of the equation, Mister Thyme? Mister Winston told me everything.”

“Huh?” asked the woman.

Showing his hand to Mezil, he said, “Your husband told me that he was the one who alerted us about your condition.”

“Ooooooh! I get it now! He used his future knowledge to save me~”

“T-the future?” Palatino blinked.

“Ahuh. In another dimension, he’s Connor’s grandfather revived as a vampire! Apparently he’s been protecting his grandson throughout the years, even if he doesn’t remember our connection. That’s so sweet of him.”

“Ma’am, he’s not a vampire.”

“What do you mean? Look at his fashion! That’s 100% vampire approved clothing. With a big V!”

“From what I sensed, he’s more of a skeleton. Except with skin and muscle.”

“But all humans are skeletons with skin and muscle... You’re not making any sense Mister Palatino.”

Mezil excused himself before he had to listen to more of this embarrassing fantastical fantasy. 

Once out of earshot, he let out a big sigh.

_What did my story mutate into??? It’s for the better, I suppose. I am leaving soon, and I don’t think I’ll ever return. It might be too difficult to say goodbye if they knew the truth._

It was then that Connor happened to return. His expression raised serious concerns. Mezil sensed that it’s filled with ‘determination’.

Whatever it may be, the elder Determinator prepared himself to face any music.

The two men thus had a stand-off. Winston Senior versus Winston Junior. What would the topic be?

Winston Senior took a deep breath and said: “W-w-we need to talk. Son!”

* * *

Two men sat down at the corner in the cafeteria, facing each other from their respective single-seat chairs. The sheer heat of midday kept them indoors despite the noise of the lunch crowd.

One was the father, and the other was his son. One could be forgiven for thinking that age was the measurement here.

The father was a young man named Connor.  
The son was an elder mage named Mezil.

Connor couldn’t look his son in the eye. He kept staring at his cup of tea, growing colder by the second in the cool air-conditioned air.

Meanwhile, Mezil already finished his cup of plain water. He said: “We could move elsewhere if this place is too noisy.”

“No,” Connor replied. “No. We’re staying here to deal with it like men.”

“You’ve not said anything since then.”

“I know. I know that. It’s just…” The young father clenched his hands, “I still remember your warnings. It’s one thing to hear it from a third-party. But... You… you’re my son from the future.”

Lowering his head, he added: “A future where we’re drunk losers.”

Mezil Thyme remained stoic. “And?”

“I want to know if… if you resent us.”

“Hmph. How I think as a child is not the same as how I think as an adult. My feelings do not apply here.”

Connor lifted his head up, this time fuelled with the fire of irritation. “Why? If I know where we fell, we could prevent ourselves from doing the same!”

“Wrong approach.” Mezil pointed the top of his cane to the general direction of the maternity ward. “Your true family should be your main focus, not my immutable past.”

Putting his cane back down, he resumed. “You live in a different dimension, in a different country, under different circumstances. As long as you’re reasonable with money, you won’t have to worry about the what-ifs.”

“I… I see…”

Connor lost his fire and resumed staring at the untouched cup with worry.

But Mezil then said, “Besides… you’re the one who took the first steps of recovery.”

“Huh?” How the youngster couldn’t believe his ears. “I did? I mean, I thought Maggie would be the sensible one. Heh. She always calls me the goof.”

“With that ‘goof’ comes the grit for an optimistic outcome. It’s quite a double edged sword, considering that hand-cranked bike.”

Facing the mixture of his garage hubris and the unexpected praise, Connor burst into an uncomfortable chuckle.

Once the bout faded, Connor said, “Wow. You really are just like grandpa. I can’t believe my son is gonna be so cool. Too cool!”

Mezil cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but living in this zany town may shape him into a different man. He may not become exactly like me.”

“But your base personality would be the same, right?”

This time, Mezil glanced aside in discomfort. “Well. I suppose, yes.”

The father began to sparkle in excitement. “Gosh, I’m so chuffed. Hey, why don’t we have lunch? My treat as your Number One Dad.”

“Save that for your actual son!” the other protested. “But yes, lunch would be nice. I’m getting rather peckish.”

With their moods improved, they had a lunch of pilaf together. Mezil Thyme sprinkled some dried chili flakes on his plate.

“So,” asked Connor, “What time were you born?”

Mezil paused to think. “My wife says that she is the dawn and I am the dusk. Since we’re in the middle of Summer, I’m guessing about eleven.”

“Ah, that means it’s a long way to go. I’m going to talk to Palatino about Maggie’s condition. If she’s stable I think I’ll go home and take a shower first.”

“Still need time to embrace a new normal?”

“I guess. What about you, son?”

“I’ll head to All Fine Labs for further arrangements. I’d like to go to my home dimension tomorrow or the day after.”

“Will you come back?”

The son noted how hopeful his other father’s face was. Yet…

“Preferably, no,” so Mezil replied. “I do not want to expose my world to more otherworldly threats than I have to.”

The Magus looked at the colourful lunch crowd. They had customers both big and small, mortal and immortal, damned and divine.

He said, “I apologize for my pessimism, but I consider Ebott’s Wake to be a ticking time bomb. My delayed mail is proof that these rifts are not the most stable of entities. Furthermore, the presence of deities and fantastical creatures will inevitably attract ill intentions. A catastrophe will happen down the line. Mark my words.”

Connor was perturbed by the news at first… but eventually his goofy optimism proved a stronger force.

“We’ll survive. Bad guys may try to find trouble. But, there will be good guys too. I bet the Shop Class can take care of anything that comes in my way. Besides, my awesome cool son will soon exist!”

Mezil glared. “Provided he’s old enough to even defend himself.”

With great confidence, Connor thumped his chest. “Leave the parenting to me! I’ll find out what he’s good at.”

“Guns. I’m quite the sharpshooter. Consider a swordsmanship class too.”

“Ooooh I see. Looks like Hal is gonna be a regular presence in our lives now.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s the best mechanic and gunman in town! I’ve already met him a few times for my Firebird. If my tyke is gonna be anywhere as cool as you are, it means hitting the shooting gallery with Hal as his teacher from an early age!”

Mezil Thyme squeezed on his spoon. After drawing a deep, concerned breath he said: “I’m not sure if your son could withstand his eccentricism.”

“...You didn’t, huh?”

Lunch resumed. After they disposed of the used cutlery in the collection bin and washed up, they prepared to part for the evening.

That would be the case if Palatino didn’t rush in with concerning news.

The midwife panted to catch his breath. “Mister Winston! Y-your wife is showing signs of labour!”

“What?!” Mezil checked the time on his phone. “But we’re hours too soon! I was supposed to be born at-- Wait.”

Turning to Connor, the greyed one asked: “Did you bake the bun in England?”

“Buns?” The young father blurted. When he realised what he meant, he blushed pink. “Oh. Oh right. Yeah, we did. We didn’t migrate to America until six months ago. I guess when it’s done, it’s done. Regardless of timezones.”

“Her body rhythm would have long acclimatized to American timing. But, if that’s the case, then…”

The elder Magus resumed muttering theories to himself: the finer details drowned out by the noise of the cafeteria.

Poor puzzled Palatino was at a loss for words. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I’ll explain later!” said Connor. “Let’s go see Maggie first.”


	11. Fate and Omens

Time of birth: the 7th of July 2020, 1500 hours. In other words, three in the afternoon: exactly eight hours apart from the expected time. If the family had stayed in their homeland, the time would have lined up just right.

Despite some complications, both mother and child survived the delivery.

After the initial bonding moment, they had to let the mother get some much-needed rest. The baby was wheeled to the nursery with all the other newborns.

Connor glued his face against the glass, staring at his new child with nervous excitement.

For Mezil Thyme… it was an odd experience. Never would he consider the possibility of looking at his other self as a tiny full-haired newborn in a crib.

_Stern right out of the womb…_

_I know all newborns have their face scrunched… But this? It’s too much. Perhaps it’s just my own perception colouring reality?_

Mezil watched Palatino patting Connor on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Mister Winston. You have a healthy baby boy.”

“Thank you. Man. I can’t believe it… he’s gonna grow up soooo cool.”

“You know, I usually only see this for first time parents, but I guess he is your first son after all.”

_I don’t think that’s the reason, Mister Palatino._

Finally peeling himself off the glass, Connor turned to the midwife. “Okay okay okay. I know this is gonna blow your mind out of your skull. BUT. I think this is super important. It’s about Mister Thyme here.”

And Mezil became the focus of attention.

“Are you serious?” he grumbled. “I was so careful to veil my past, and you’re going to blurt it out to your midwife?”

“This is Ebott’s Wake, dude! The zaniest town in the multiverse! A little heads up would do us both good.”

There’s no stopping Connor once he had set his mind to something. Such is the side effect of being a determinator. “Fine, fine.” Mezil surrendered. “Just find someplace private.”

So Mezil Thyme, Connor, and Palatino secluded themselves in a quiet corridor.

“First things first,” the proud father showed his hand to the elder. “Meet the boy you had just delivered, 50 years into the future!”

Palatino dropped his jaw. “Are you serious?”

“Well, an ALTERNATE future! But the future nonetheless. Look at him. He’s so posh and badass! The spitting image of my grandfather!”

Chuckling, the skeleton commented: “No wonder your wife thought Mister Thyme is a vampire. I can see why. He does not have the same aura as a regular human.”

“What do you mean?” asked Connor.

“I sense strong skeleton magic from him. In fact, I thought he was a member of my kind.”

Mezil then unbuckled the buttons of his sleeves and said: “I suppose you were detecting these.”

When he bared his arms, the two other men widened their eyes in amazement. A typical reaction for anyone first witnessing his Arcanagram-rigged skin.

“Are those…. Tattoos?” Connor peered closer. “Whoaaaa. Circuit lines? Points? Hey I see a bunch of polygrams too. They’re so crisp and black. Are they fresh?”

Palatino shook his head. “No, Mister Winston. They’re not made of ink. It’s magic imbued straight into his epidermis! They’re black because they’re inactive, right?”

“Indeed,” Mezil confirmed. “They glow white when they’re in use. For example… Activate Integrity: Reinforcement.”

Thus, the Code that’s associated with Integrity glowed white. Everything else remained in their inactive black state.

Connor covered his mouth, resisting the urge to scream from the possible mixture of nervousness, joy, and excitement. He squeaked something that sounded like ‘coooool’, although it was so high pitched Mezil wasn’t sure.

As for Palatino… his fingers wanted to touch the tattoos…

“You may touch them,” said Mezil. “They will not hurt you. And, you’re not infringing on my privacy either.”

“Oh, I… I’m not sure if I should.” The skeleton’s breath quickened. “I have never seen anything like this before. Just looking at it tells me that this is a deep, complex magic. Way, way beyond my understanding. I feel like a young child -- barely able to read my alphabets -- standing before this magnificent creation.”

Mezil clarified, “Just so you know, I did not make this. It is skeleton magic after all.”

“Who then?” asked Palatino. “Does such a person exist in our world? Or did you strike a deal with a god from elsewhere?”

Deeper and deeper the questions go. Mezil pitied the man. For Palatino’s sake, he hoped that he had met a different spouse in this world.

The ‘vampire’ therefore asked: “Is your wife’s name Lydianne, whose fire of ambition burns brighter than her beauty?”

“H-how did you know? I thought it was strange that you knew my name.”

“Is your newborn daughter Lucidia, ‘The Light of Dawn’?”

Palatino withdrew his hand in fear. He took a few steps back, distancing himself from Mezil. That behaviour snapped Connor out of his nerdy mood.

“Okay, my son from the future,” said Connor. “What does Palatino’s daughter have to do with you?”

Mezil planted down his cane. “She is the mind behind this magnificence: the one with whom I made a life-binding vow. ‘Till death do us part.”

Both fathers looked at each other. Their minds still needed time to catch up with their ears.

“You… you mean… my daughter will one day marry my client’s son???”  
“I’m gonna be an in-law to a monster??? That’s not a problem, but that never crossed my mind!”

Since that fact had finally sunk into their noggins, Mezil thought it’s time to move on to more serious matters.

“I wouldn’t be celebrating just yet,” he said. “In my timeline, Lucidia was given over to the Grandmaster of the Magus Association as a gift. It was a blessing in disguise, for her mother cared more about her own ideals than loving her children.”

“I don’t think her adoptive father exists in this world. Therefore, this Lucidia will be living right under Lydianne’s thumb.”

The young human tried to intervene. “W-wait! Isn’t this a bit too blunt? Harsh? Both???”

“I apologize if it hurts,” Mezil said, “But I do not have enough time to ease it in. I may return to my dimension tomorrow, so any personal warnings must be given now.”

“Still, you can’t just accuse another man’s wife of being an abuser--”

Palatino lifted his palm to Connor. “Sir. Thank you for defending me. But, I know what kind of a person Lydianne is. I can see that bearing a prodigy might drive her to… high hopes.”

The skeleton braced for what he needed to hear. “Mister Thyme, if you are indeed my daughter’s future husband… then say what you need to say.”

The green light was given; there’s no turning back.

“Very well, Mister Palatino. It shall be done. Should your wife pursue the path of ambition instead of love, she will fracture her bond with Lucidia beyond repair.”

“Her first sin was to pledge Lucidia as a gift to the Grandmaster of the Magus Association. I do not care if it’s done out of ‘gratitude’: I still consider the act itself disgusting.”

“As my wife grew up, Lydianne tried to gain influence on the claim that she’s her birth mother. She tried to meddle with her daughter’s path by all sorts of nonsense. Meanwhile Lucidia tried to fulfil that ideal to her own detriment. To this day, that crone’s standards haunt my wife like a cursed ghost.”

“The situation became so bad, that the Grandmaster banned Lydianne from showing her presence ever again. Repentance was the sole condition. Yet, that condition was never fulfilled. Instead she tried to weasel updates through you, through her other children, and through their children’s children. It was her ‘right’ as Lucidia’s mother, so she claimed.”

“It drove Lucidia to cease all contact with her birth family. You included, Mister Palatino. Her heart only had one father and it wasn’t you. Despite the hell Lydianne put her through, she still had the gall to call Lucidia an ungrateful child.”

“Such is my wife’s future with your family. As you can see, I’m not close either.”

A grim silence hung in the air. Though Mezil’s front remained stoic, his heart crunched with regret.

The poor skeleton shook his head. “E-excuse me. I should go and check on Missus Winston.” And so, unable to bear the unveiled truth, he discreetly fled from the source of much stress.

“Wow,” said Connor, deadpan. “Can’t believe he had it worse.”

Mezil raised a brow. “Worse than being dead?”

“Yup. That’s some soap opera level drama right there.”

_…Dad, I couldn’t disclose your future for a reason. You might fall into a deep depression knowing where Emelline and Albert went._

The human father then fingergunned down the hall. “I’m gonna check on Maggie too. See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“I mean, you haven’t held your baby self yet. C’mon. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’ll take a picture! Your wife will love it.”

Mezil couldn’t deny that it was a cute proposal. Lucidia could use some laughter. “I suppose so… Besides, the skeleton brothers would want to know the fruits of their rescue.”

“Great! See you tomorrow, son!” So Connor left the area too.

Alone, without any need to maintain a front, Mezil leaned his back against the wall. He proceeded to breathe a long, tired sigh.

_…What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t have said anything to Palatino. I held my tongue before my father, yet failed before him…_

_……………_

_Lucidia, Lucidia. Am I trying to fulfil a selfish fantasy?_

_Is this enough to change your fate?_


	12. Little One

Rita Belle Thurman Memorial, July 8. 1030H

The skeleton brothers were invited to visit the mother and child. It’s only proper that they have this privilege: they’re heroes to the Winston family after all.

Papyrus tried his best to hush his voice. That sweet soul didn’t want to frighten the child. Still, he’s Papyrus. Even his softest tone had that booming quality.

Eyes sparkling, he whispered: “OOOOOH HE’S SO ADORABLEEEE! AND TINY! AND VULNERABLE! ABSOLUTELY NOTHING LIKE THE WIZENED WIZARD WE’VE COME TO APPRECIATE.”

“Heh,” Sans chuckled. “Everyone starts life as a cutie patootie. Mind-blowing isn’t it?” That short skeleton just had to make an intentional wink right in Mezil’s direction.

The victim planted his face into his hand. “Please don’t make this any more embarrassing than it already is.”

Magdalene and Connor snickered at that statement.

Gently patting the swaddled baby, dear mother said: “It’s like looking at baby photos, but in full 3D. Right?”

Mezil’s internal groaning intensifies. “Yes. Spare me some mercy.”

_Dad just had to disclose everything to Mom, didn’t he? I shouldn’t complain. That’s a good sign for their relationship._

In an effort to change subjects, he leaned closer to observe the baby’s face. “I certainly look much more content today than yesterday.”

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “It takes a while for a baby’s face to unflatten. A womb is a tight space, you know.”

Connor had a different idea. “Maybe he came into the world knowing all the nonsense he’s going to face?”

The future son cleared his throat. “You’re the one who chose to migrate into Crazy Town.”

“Hey, you’ll thank me for it! I’m going to apply for a better job at All Fine Labs. With their pay, Maggie can fulfil her secret dream of being a housewife~”

Magdalene rolled her eyes at her husband. “Ugh do you have to make it sound so corny? I’m just trying to not make the same error as my other self.”

“Also,” she said, smiling at the older Mezil. “I’m so sorry for accusing you of being a bloodsucking vampire.”

“It’s fine,” Mezil replied. “You’re half-right anyway. I did say that I’m something of a blood wizard. Just not an immortal or invulnerable one.”

Papyrus rubbed his chin with a loud humm. “YOU KNOW, YOU NEVER REALLY TOLD US EXACTLY WHAT WIZARDRY YOU PRACTICE. I HEARD FROM DAD THAT IT SPOOKED ONE OF OUR NEW RECRUITS.”

_Oh. Right. That did happen._

_A hospital room is where I least expect to give an explanation, but… I think they have the right to know. It’s nothing top secret in this dimension anyway._

Mezil summoned a crimson butterfly on his upturned palm. 

“This butterfly is a representation of my will." He explained, "When applied as a symbol, it alters the subject to my ‘rules’. For example: I can inflict temporary blindness by denying the optic nerves from sending any visual data to the brain.”

Everyone uttered their little ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’.

“Neat biological manipulation there,” said Sans. “Can it affect the other’s blood too?”

“Well yes. But I won’t touch that substance unless I’m certain it’s not ridden with disease.”

“Heh. You’re a fussy vamp, aren’t ya?”

Papyrus crossed his arms, nodding with great understanding. “I SEE, I SEE. CERTAINLY, THE RED EYES FIT THE THEME.”

By instinct, Mezil dispelled the magical butterfly in his hand. 

“R-red eyes? That shouldn’t happen.”

Checking with the selfie camera, he discovered that his irises had indeed turned crimson.

_My Determination level is beyond the normal threshold? But I don’t feel any different? Perhaps I’m overcompensating from all those internal errors?_

_Quick, think of an understandable explanation that won’t cause more curious prying!_

“…It appears that my magic is responding to my extended stay in a foreign environment.”

Concerned, the mother asked: “Is it dangerous?”

“No. Not yet.” Mezil pinched the top of his bridge. “Still, I don’t want to stick around to discover any further side-effects.”

“If that’s the case, I suppose we should initiate the ‘ceremony’.”

Magdalene Winston offered her child to the silver-haired ‘vampire’: her own progeny of another world. “Say hello to your little self.”

Try as he might, Mezil couldn’t hide his lack of childrearing. The baby felt heavier than he expected. It’s amazing how dense a human body could be.

_How do I hold a baby again? It’s been ages. That last time I did this was with the newborn Frisk, and that was for only a short while._

_Support the head. Let it rest near my elbow joint…_

A few tries later, he cradled his baby self within his arms. It’s a warm yet confusing sensation. Such an opportunity could only present itself in a time-displaced dimension such as Ebott's Wake.

The baby then began to coo and giggle. Mezil thought the ‘younger him’ would put up more resistance to being held by someone other than his parents.

Just when he glanced at Connor, he heard the phone’s camera go off with a loud click.

Connor grinned. “Yeaaaaaah! A candid shot!”

The skeleton brothers crowded around the picture in excited delight.

“OH, OH LET US SEE!”

“Welp. Red eyes aside, he looks like a normal guy in Ebott's Wake. Bet that’s a rarity from where he came from.”

“THIS IS TOO CUTE. I BET MY OTHER SELF WOULD HAVE SAID: ‘IT’S ALRIGHT TO BREAK CHARACTER SOMETIMES’!”

The awkward weight soon started to bother some old scars. Before Mezil had to resort to casting magic, he returned the child back to his mother.

“Thank you,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” the mother asked. “We should be thanking you! You spent the whole day working out a 5-year budget for us. Non-stop! That’s some grit.”

Nuzzling her baby cheek to cheek, she added: “Our family sure needs someone like that.”

Mezil just had some unpleasant flashbacks of his dysfunctional childhood. “Please don’t put adult responsibilities on your minor son, even if he’s dependable.”

“Of course! Of course! I’ll do better, dear. I promise.”

“We promise.” Connor added.

The skeleton brothers began to enquire Magdalene about her health. While they did so, Mezil retreated to the window. He gazed upwards towards the clear blue sky.

_…I suppose I had botched any chances of meeting Palatino’s daughter._

He heard the door open. Turning back, Mezil spotted Mister Palatino. He visited the ward just as appointed. Except... also he also brought along a pram.

The hospital ward came alive once again with the marvel over another newborn. This time, it’s over a skeleton child.

Palatino pushed the pram closer to where Mezil stood. He steered it sideways so the sun’s warm rays could shine on the tiny mobile bed.

And there she lay: Lucidia, The Sky Princess. She wore a white onesie with pink baby mittens. Her features may still be those of an immature bud, lacking her trademark hair, but Mezil recognized the doll-like ‘threading’ on the baby’s lips.

The warmth and the brightness of the sun caused the baby to stir. Little Lucidia whined and whimpered.

Palatino picked her up and coddled his child, rocking her in gentle motions to calm down. It didn’t take long before she settled.

“Mister Thyme,” said Palatino. “I’ll be honest: you’re quite a bitter pill to swallow. I almost wanted to reject everything you said. I told myself, ‘different worlds, different circumstances. I should not be paying heed’.”

“However… I realize your actions yesterday are also a proof of love. Those events you describe must have hurt you as much as they hurt her. I thought it’s only fair that you get to meet your wife’s counterpart.”

The midwife smiled at Magdalene’s direction. “Like how you met your other self.”

That was all and well, but Mezil knew he’s not to let down his guard yet. “I… have some questions.”

Palatino laughed. “Likewise, I have my own. You should go first.”

“Is Lydianne here?”

“Oh no. She’s getting the groceries. I told her that I’m taking Lucidia to the hospital for a health checkup. I just took my daughter for a ‘slight detour’ before visiting the good doctor. Two birds with one stone, you know.”

Huge. Relief. Mezil didn’t want to start the inevitable family feud this soon. Give everyone a few years to prepare at least. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“No matter. May I have my turn now?”

“Go ahead.”

“This Grandmaster… does he exist in my world?”

Mezil shook his head. “No. Unless he somehow became immortal, he would have died a thousand years ago.”

“I see, I see.” Palatino nodded. “Which means he somehow achieved so in your realm?”

“By accident, yes. He became a Lich: a Pseudo Boss Monster of sorts. As long as he suffers no fatal injuries, The Grandmaster is ageless.”

“Is he…” The man struggled for a moment. “Is he a good father?”

Mezil replied: “Yes. Both to me and to Lucidia. Perfection is impossible, though, if you’re wondering.”

“Certainly, I don’t expect anyone to be a perfect father. Perfection… it’s a tall order. How is he like?”

“A kind, determined man who’s patient in everything. The Grandmaster did his best to nurture Lucidia in bone, mind, and in spirit. He encouraged her to pursue her talents, even though that path strayed from Lydianne’s ideal.”

Crossing his arms, Mezil added: “If you ask me, one of his biggest regrets was not shutting out that crone sooner. Diplomacy is a waste on her.”

Palatino uttered an uncomfortable chortle. “You really are a bitter pill, Mister Thyme.”

“I’m just being objective, Mister Palatino. So, why did you enquire about a man who’s long gone? To compare his parenting? To estimate and measure? I recommend you to cease doing such. You are not The Grandmaster. And you won’t be able to replicate him.”

“N-no! Not at all. I’m just curious.”

Except the man’s body language said otherwise. He withdrew. Stepped back. Averted his gaze. And held his child closer to his chest. The guilt of his weaseling was as plain as day.

Mezil sighed. “Mister Palatino, you’re kind and persevering. You mean well, but your ideas belong to a fool. Lucidia doesn't need a Grandmaster: she needs a father.”

“Be a part of Lucidia’s life. That should be your primary concern. Listen to her. Protect her. Guide her. Love her. Do so, and she will repay your efforts a thousandfold.”

Palatino was stunned at first. However, his face soon glowed with renewed hope. “It appears you’re quite a medicine too. Mister Thyme, I will never forget you.”

After some thoughts, he asked: “Would you like to hold Lucidia?”

_Did… did I hear that right?_

_A miracle? A wish fulfilled? I guess that’s what this town represents. In Ebott’s Wake anything can happen: the good and the bad._

“Yes,” Mezil reached out his hands. “Thank you.”

A skeleton baby weighs almost nothing in comparison to a human. Mezil had much less trouble supporting her.

Feeling the change, Little Lucidia’s large eyes opened wide. She gazed at his face with the innocent awe of infants.

Nothing else mattered at that moment.

It didn’t matter if he was in a whole different dimension.  
It didn’t matter if he was caught smiling ear to ear.  
It didn’t matter if Connor and Sans captured the whole event on their respective phones. In video.

What mattered was the fact that Lucidia exists.

Mezil heard a tiny ‘hic’ coming from the baby. Frightened by the sight and scents of a complete stranger, the baby then started to cry.

If that was not distressing enough… Mezil could feel his weight drain away at a rapid pace. 

Hair, rising.  
Sleeves, floating.

He recognized this sensation very, very well: it’s anti-gravity magic. To make matters even worse, the pram started to rattle. Bend. Crush. The wheels snapped off from their joints and started to fly towards the ceiling.

“W-what’s happening?!”  
“Maggie!!!”

Before long, every person and object in the hospital ward started to lift off their feet. The skeleton brothers once again jumped to the rescue. They kept the important folk grounded with their respective Blue Magics, Ebott's Wake edition.

Papyrus turned Magdalene’s Psychia Blue, while Sans secured Connor and Palatino. They piled the adults onto the bed so that their collective downward force kept it completely grounded.

“HOLY MACARONI!” The tall skeleton exclaimed, “I DIDN’T KNOW BABIES ARE SO POWERFUL!!!”

“I don’t think that’s the norm, bro.” The short one replied. “Talk about a terrible tantrum.”

“SANS, IF YOU BREAK INTO A PUN RIGHT NOW I’LL THROW YOU OUTSIDE! WE’VE GOT TO SAVE OUR GUEST FIRST!!!”

Mezil straight up turned down the offer. “It’s fine. I know how to handle this.”

He activated the spells in his legs and hips to keep him properly pivoted in the direction of his choice. That way, he won’t be helplessly flailing around. It was one of his first major instalments.

_Was this what the Grandmaster had to deal with?_ Mezil wondered. If the wizened wizard could soothe his adopted daughter in her youth, then Mezil didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t do the same.

Whether he realised it or not, he began to hum a lullaby. It’s the same tune his wife inherited from the ancient past. If only he could remember the full lyrics…

Hopefully the melody will be enough to placate her. Improvisation mode on!

Patting her with a slow and steady beat, he sang the following:

“Hush, hush, little one. Rest for the ‘morrow.”  
“Rest, rest, sleeping youth. Sleep under the hallow.”  
“May your dreams be fair and light, reflecting of a peaceful heart.”

While he still had the opportunity, he planted a gentle kiss on the girl’s forehead.

Slowly yet surely, Baby Lucy stopped crying. She no longer saw this stranger as a threat. And thus, the gravity-twisting began to fade.

Connor and Magdalene immediately checked on their child first. It seems that the mayhem didn’t startle the newborn, who remained oblivious to the ruckus.

Mezil walked over to Palatino and gave the child back to her father. 

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mister Palatino. Sorry about the pram.”

“Uh, n-no problem. Y-you’re welcome.”

Poor, poor Palatino. Truly, he had his work cut out for him. Raising a child with such immense power added a whole new curveball. At least he won’t be alone in his endeavour. Hopefully.

It’s time to let the residents rest. Mezil excused himself to go back to his inn. He still had his final packing to do.

_Goodbye, my other princess. Live well._

Come evening, Mezil Thyme will return to his homeworld. Before then, he still had unfinished business to attend to.

Yesterday’s urgent parcel included a warning. It stated that if the entities of ‘Mezil’ and ‘Lucidia’ exist with enough similarities, the Supreme Judge must authorize the release of a certain top secret file. It detailed a war of time and blood, just an inch away from a world-ending calamity.

Mezil hoped that such a scenario won’t come to pass in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The picture is a commission from Iron Waffle by the artist of drunk!Chara https://hawker-rawr.tumblr.com/
> 
> It’s a super neat surprise that helped build this scene.
> 
> Link to the original size:  
> https://sta.sh/01x2topoa8tk


	13. Home Sweet Home

All Fine Labs, July 8. 1614H

_At least I’m not leaving empty handed. To think that this picnic basket would turn out to be this useful. It’s just enough to fit what I wanted to take home._

Only Sans, Papyrus, and Connor were part of the sendoff team. Palatino left with his daughter, whereas Frisk busied themselves with their other two siblings. Doctor Aster was… somewhere. Doing his Aster things.

And, the rest of the Ebott Crew might as well be strangers. They need not come.

At the lobby, Papyrus -- beaming with pride -- declared: “WELL MY ILLUSTRIOUS NOT-VAMPIRE GUEST, MY BROTHER AND I THOUGHT TO GET A FITTING FAREWELL GIFT FOR YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!”

“Happy Birthday to your wife too,” said Sans.

It was a cake box. Receiving it, Mezil smelled the scent of lemon and…

“Thyme?” he muttered.

“YES INDEED! WHAT BETTER DESSERT DESCRIBES YOU THAN A SPICED LEMON THYME CAKE? IT’S A MIX OF SWEET AND SOUR WITH A COPIOUS AMOUNT OF SPICES. AND IT HAS THYME, JUST LIKE YOUR NAME!”

Mezil smiled, his heart warmed by their efforts. “Your gift is greatly appreciated.”

He rearranged the contents of the picnic basket to fit the cake.

“In exchange, let me give you this.” He passed a parcel to the skeleton brothers. “I think you would find its contents to be of great interest.”

In return for the Lab’s dimensional services, Doctor Gaster had promised Doctor Aster a hundred years worth of history. A reasonable agreement for once, Mezil thought.

Opening the package revealed a data stick and a thick black folder: the documents needed to wrap up any remaining loose ends. They took it over to the nearest multidimensional-approved-computer to check.

Now the burning question: did the datastick survive the journey? Could the machines of 2020 even read a device many, many versions beyond its current iteration?

Sans plugged the stick into the port. To everyone’s relief, it worked. The files could be read without any issues.

“All clear here,” he said. “I’ll pass this over to Dad for further analysis. Wow. A land bridge to faux-Britain? That’s gonna influence a lot of history.”

Mezil commented, “The land border had been a contentious issue for thousands of years. We didn’t resolve that until the 20th century.”

“WHAT’S WITH THE OMINOUS BLACK FILE THOUGH?” asked Papyrus. “HMMM… IT’S SEALED WITH A WAX SEAL. AN ACE OF SPADES?”

“That is the symbol of House Berendin: my wife’s true family in my world.”

Mezil stared at it with a heavy heart. He didn’t want to let them know anything about that cursed war… yet the other Papyrus had spoken his warning. That young man’s futuresight must not be doubted.

He handed the folder to this world’s Papyrus. “This is a copy of some of the Magus Association’s top secret files. It contains the profiles of our worst criminals. Heretics. Psychopaths. Warlords. What have you. If my counterpart exists, there’s a chance that my various nemeses will be in this world as well. They may or may not become a threat: it all depends on opportunities and circumstance.”

“This file also contains details about the worst calamity to befall monsterkind. I pray that the mechanisms do not align to repeat this tragedy. But, if it does, I hope your people will succeed where I had failed.”

“Papyrus, your town has 25 years to prepare. I’m counting on you to decide who to share this knowledge with.”

With that kind of pressure, it’s understandable that the youngster felt nervous. “GEE. THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS HONOURED? I-I’LL DO MY BEST.”

“Thank you.”

_I hope I’m not putting too much of a burden on him. I know the Papyrus in my world could do it. Not so sure about this one._

Mezil turned back to the young human father. Connor represented the whole Winston family. Emelline was too young to understand, and Magdalene still required close monitoring.

Smiling, Connor said: “Take care, son. Send my regards to your wife.”

“Take care, Dad.” The son nodded. “Likewise, send my regards to Mom and Emmeline. You better stay away from alcohol like the plague.”

“Man, you’ll never let that go huh?”

Connor spread his arms wide. “Mind giving daddy a hug, my cool son?”

A silly and borderline embarrassing proposal. But… this opportunity will likely never come again.

So, he accepted the offer. The two hugged each other for their first and final time.

_This warmth… I had forgotten about it until now._

_It may be a memory too painful to keep._

The hug concluded all the remaining businesses in Ebott’s Wake.

One of the scientists called for his name, marking the moment to return home. Mezil left the trio while he still had control over his emotions.

The way back went smoother than expected. He had to brace some black winds of the Void here and there, but it was much less traumatic than being tossed unconscious unto a bed of flowers.

At the end of the tunnel -- across time zones and dimensions -- stood the image of his home. It’s his bedroom. Lucidia appeared to have tucked herself in mere moments ago. Not surprising, as it would be past midnight over there.

Mezil stepped out of the portal as he would with a simple doorway. Seconds later, the way back destabilized and closed in a blink.

“Mezzy?” The wife muttered in disbelief. “Is that really you?”

“I’m home at last, Lucy dearest.” The husband answered.

He walked over to the bed and placed the picnic basket on the floor. 

Then, he plopped straight onto his bed: spent of his stamina and lacking any reason to maintain a front.

At long, long last… he could relax.

* * *

Berendin Manor, July 9. 0530H

It was almost dawn by the time Mezil woke up. The wife thought the best way to commemorate his return was to celebrate their belated birthdays in the garden.

So that was what they did. At the Berendin Manor’s front garden -- high up in the sky -- the couple settled at a bench to have their first meal of the day.

It’s a selection of sausages, bacon, mushrooms, potatoes, and tomatoes: all fried on a griddle.

Mezil was quite impressed by what he saw. “Where did you get these? I don’t think you had the time to make it, as you were lying beside me when I woke up.”

Lucidia giggled. “I won’t pass up that opportunity. It’s not often that we get to share the bed together. Not even a hunting camp could get you to completely synchronize with the sun.”

“That’s true. Shift work does have its drawbacks.”

“About our breakfast,” said Lucidia. “I had arranged an order from the 24-7 diner: the one you sometimes go to after a long night’s mission with the police.”

“Oh, that place. Good food there. Just letting you know first: it’s much better when it’s piping hot.”

“If that’s the case, we should begin. It’s not too long after they were delivered.”

Although the food had cooled more than he’d like, it was still scrumptious. There’s always a calming atmosphere to dine under good weather. A band of blue, red, and yellow stretched across the sky’s horizon, peppered with sparse clouds.

Between the bites, the following conversation happened:

Lucidia asked, “How was your time there? I hope it’s not too troublesome.”

Mezil answered, “It was surprisingly good. I was annoyed at first, especially when I was thrown on a bed of flowers in late morning. But the town was very welcoming. Zany, but welcoming.”

“Oh? It almost sounds like ‘that man’ had set you up for a forced vacation instead.”

“Well, pictures say a thousand words. I recorded the trip as much as I could. Have you examined the databanks yet?”

“Not yet. However, I did find your…” Her lips curled in a funny way, attempting to resist a laugh. “Flavourful commentary.”

Mezil raised a brow. “I wrote my honest feelings especially for you.”

Unable to hold it anymore, she burst into a giggle. “Oh my goodness, Mezzy. Your comments are always so entertaining to read. Such copious amounts of salted curry spice on everything and anything! And nothing induced more of that seasoning than the bewildered theories about your vampirism!”

He let out a big groan. “My parents actually thought I was William Winston himself!”

“The viewers of Mettaton’s livestream had the same idea.”

That. Livestream. Every troll and gremlin jumped on the silly silliness. One even granted Mezil the label of a mock pharmaceutical product.

‘Mezyl’ is not the right way to spell his name!

“…You put me in the spotlight by entertaining my great-grandfather’s photo! Now everyone in this universe will think I’m a real vampire too.”

With the most mischievous of smiles, Lucidia said: “They already do, honey. They already do.”

Mezil couldn’t deny that. He did earn that reputation long before he appeared on the internet…

Not wanting to proverbially dig his own grave and nail his own coffin, he decided to change the subject. “Speaking of spice, do we want to try the cake yet? The other world’s Sans and Papyrus bought it for us. They wished you a happy birthday too.”

“Aww, that’s so nice of them.” Lucidia turned towards the citrus dessert. “Just a tiny bit first. It smells quite sweet, though it may be tempered by the lemon.”

Awkward moment, averted. It’s time to salvage the situation by making it as romantic as possible.

The husband extended his hand to his wife, accompanied by a charming little song.

“Happy birthday to you~” he sang.

Oh, the wife knew what he planned. It's something they had done for the past 25 years of their marriage..

As she accepted his gesture, she added the next verse. “Happy birthday to you~”

Together as a duet they sang: “Happy birthday to each other~ Happy birthday to you.”

Husband and wife gazed in the eyes of their partner, filled with fondness.

“I love you, Lucy dearest.”  
“I love you too, Mezzy.”

By now, the sun peeked across the horizon of the cityscape. Its brilliant rays blessed the world with its shine once more, marking the beginning of a new day.

_It’s definitely good to be home again._


	14. Prospects

July 12, 1600 Hours

It’s been a few days since Lucidia started processing the data of the little misadventure. She didn’t quite have the chance to examine it until the weekend. Understandably so: Gaster’s moronic decisions had caused a week’s worth of backlogged work.

At least nothing exploded in the meantime. The reports contained mostly routine peacekeeping and student development.

By the time he got them all done, Mezil had returned to his ‘vampire time’ once again. He clocked out around six in the morning and woke up at five in the evening.

_Eleven hours? Sigh. I guess I needed that…_

_Every day I burned the midnight oil a bit longer. It started to take a toll on me by Friday._

_Sigh, being fifty sure has its drawbacks._

No one greeted him on the way out of his bedroom. How odd. The Grandmaster should be around for the weekend. It’s not Sunday where he would be at his busiest.

Lucidia sat in the kitchen with her electronic device. She seemed quite excited. There was a twinkle in her eyes that Mezil hadn’t seen in a while.

“Good evening…?” Mezil asked, “Did something good happen while I was asleep?”

His wife put the device down with a slight gasp. “Goodness, you met Uncle Hal in the other world?!”

“Uncle… Hal…?”

“Hal Greene, the mad Crafter with his one-man orchestra. He played this ‘Rick Roll’ theme when you arrived, remember? He did the same to his class the last time he visited.”

The more Mezil listened, the less sense it made. “Crafter? The Magus Association doesn’t exist there.”

“But Uncle Hal does.” She beckoned her husband to sit beside her. “You’ll understand once you read this.”

Read, he did. Baffled, he was. “You’re telling me… This ‘Shop Class’ team exists in our world too?”

Lucidia nodded. “Mhmm mhmm! All except one man was part of the Magus Association too. Far West branch. Look here. Hal Greene. Artificer. Crafter speciality. Although technically retired, he’s still invited to this building to give lectures. Notorious for his impromptu musical solos.”

The latest profile picture had the man in his late eighties. It’s amazing that he’s still alive and active.

“Really?” Mezil squinted. “Why didn’t I know anything about him?”

“Well, it’s just Uncle Hal being Uncle Hal. Reports about him bursting into the lobby with bagpipes are of low priority.”

“You’re telling me that he had managed to evade my notice for twenty-five years? Exactly how?”

“It’s elementary, my dear husband. He appears only during the mornings and early afternoons, well after you have taken your slumber.”

“And he was never invited to the major events where I would be present? A bit too much of a coincidence for that amount of time, don’t you think?”

Both husband and wife stopped to ponder about the situation.

Lucidia proceeded to ask, “Have you really never met Uncle Hal before?”

“I don’t think so,” Mezil answered.

“Then why did you have such a strong reaction against his counterpart in Ebott’s Wake?”

“He reminds me too much of Kisei.”

“I can see the resemblance… but I’m certain he’s not malicious. I wonder if you had met him before without realising it. Perhaps it was an event ingrained in your subconscious…”

Pondering, intensified.

Mezil then proposed: “It’s time to call upon the Chronograph.”

“Agreed,” said Lucidia, “I shall scan your memories for a matching identity. Meanwhile… Let’s resume our comparisons. Here are the individuals discovered:”

Elijah McGraw - Observer. He ran a bar as a front for Magus operations. He functioned primarily as an informant, though he sometimes relays missions. In Ebott’s Wake he does more or less the same job.

Steven Ward - Vanquisher, Guardian. He doubled as a cop for a small town. Seems that he had settled a number of major magic-related cases. Certain parties insisted that he had the potential to be a criminal judge. Though, that’s all speculation by now.

Justin Carrow - Vanquisher, Guardian. Former army member. Sole survivor of his squad after a bomb trap incident. He’s only in the Magus Association because of Hal’s recommendation. Served as a colleague of Steven Ward until his retirement. His counterpart’s story was quite similar, with the exception that their Justin served in an actual war.

Joe Stanton - Artificer, Crafter. Electrical department to be specific. Also had a knack for lockpicks and lockbreaks. He helped the Observers crack open sealed boxes from time to time.

Michael Van Garrett - Artificer, Inventor. Former aerospace engineer in both universes. Due to an ‘unknown incident’ later in life, Van Garrett changed departments to Observer, Archivist. The notes from Ebott’s Wake insisted that he had his research pilfered by the higher-ups. Mezil could believe that: some things don’t change after all.

At the bottom of the list was one person who stayed sadly young: Byron Thorton. Postmaster. He was the only non-Magus member in the list. Murdered in 2014. Something about a whistleblower for a crime he had witnessed.

The findings were uncanny. Too uncanny. That world seemed to be a trickster’s mirror: so different yet so alike.

Lucidia stared down on the table in discomfort, watching the reflections of the screen. “…I’m sorry. Your great-grandfather’s past was of more personal interest, was it not? You had made plenty of notes and references for this ‘World War II’. And here I am, talking about people you may not care about.”

She continued, “A part of me wishes that the worst of humanity is unique to our realm. Perhaps in a different time and circumstance, that era was not marked by mass cruelty. And yet, the events that surround William Winston show otherwise. Is it fate that hundreds of millions should perish under such turmoil?”

Mezil had no meaningful words to comfort her. The thought of such a harrowing disaster being inescapable was nothing short of depressing. Worse still that such happened in a past immutable by time travel.

Still, he didn’t want his wife to mope forever. He proceeded to ask: “Do you think studying other worlds could better prepare us for the future?”

Lucidia just stared back with cheeks puffed in irritation. Oh, Mezil recognized this. It was the moment when she had a great inner conflict between facts and feelings, especially against someone she vehemently disliked.

“…That looks like a ‘yes’, except you don’t want to admit it because Doctor Gaster is a massive douchebag.”

The dear wife huffed at the thought. “He is. He is very much a terrible fellow.”

She then glanced back at the table. “In all honesty… this endeavour didn’t need to be ‘useful’. Childish as it may seem, it’s fun enough to study the different outcomes of life. No different than enjoying stories.”

Where would the middle ground lay? What should Mezil Thyme be determined on: denying the project, or allowing it with safeguards in place?

Knowing ‘that man’… leaving him to his own devices would be the greater evil of the two.

Mezil thus proposed: “Would it help if we had an intermediary? Doctor Alphys is on good terms with that mad scientist. We’ll let her handle that person, while you stick to data management.”

Lucidia thought about it. “That’s certainly possible. But… Hmmm… you were the one who was vehemently opposed at first. You had brought up that prying into the other realms would expose our universe to the invasion of unspeakable horrors. Like Cenna’s favourite anime, for example: the one with aliens and vampires.”

“That’s true. But after my trip in Ebott's Wake, I realised that my approach was wrong. Ignoring the possibilities would do nothing to keep the dangers away: in fact, it would just make it easier for malicious forces to meddle and invade.”

The wife pouted and grumbled. “Wait… Does this mean… That foolishly foolish fool will get exactly what he wants? Scott free? We’re letting him WIN?”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, Lucidia dearest.” Mezil sighed. “I guess meeting my parents changed my opinion. However! That doesn’t mean he’s won. Not even in the slightest bit!”

“Hmmmm?” She tilted her head.

Mezil resumed his dramatic proclamation. “Let him savour the satisfaction of an illusionary victory. He will get what he wants, except he won’t have the absolute freedom of The Void. This project will be like an island bordered by ocean: confined without ever realising it.”

“Please elaborate, honey.”

Elaborate, he did. “The Magus Association will enforce proper policy under the joint jurisdiction of Crimson Keeper Frisk. That child has the support of Papyrus, whom Gaster loves dearly. They also have connections with Doctor Alphys, and the most important of all… Sans Serif.”

“Aha, I see. Sans Serif will serve as our eyes and ears. It would be in his greatest interest to ensure that Doctor Gaster doesn’t tumble down the slope of a mad heretical scientist. Again.”

“It takes a criminal to know another criminal. This arrangement would be the best ‘balance’ for all parties, while letting you enjoy your research as much as you’d like.”

How Lucidia brightened up at the proposal. “Thank you so, so much, my knight in shining armour! I appreciate it.”

Mezil straightened his clothes with his head high, attempting to look impressive for his wife. “The pleasure is mine.”

“Speaking of entertaining stories…” The wife tapped her screen for a different window. “When will you come forward with the fact that this picture contains ‘Mezil Thymes Two’?”

Mezil shot out from his seat. Was it THAT picture?! The one Connor snapped as a candid shot?!

To his utter and complete embarrassment, it was indeed the incriminating picture in question. It appears Sans had mailed it towards Mezil’s temporary phone without his notice.

Pretending to clear his throat, he said, “I… I just didn’t have the opportunity.”

“Hmmmmmmmmm?” Unconvinced, she showed a catty smile.

“I-it’s true!”

“So, what’s it like holding your baby self? Look at him. He’s so happy! You need to laugh more, dear.”

“It’s soft, warm, and heavy like all other babies. I got quite the opposite reaction from you. Your baby version got frightened and started crying.”

“Daaaw~ that’s adorable.”

With the straightest of faces, Mezil added: “She also crushed and snapped her pram.”

“Huh?!” She exclaimed, “Wouldn’t she just be a few hours old?! I was not able to do so until my Awakening. I was eight at that time. Did the little baby also twist, snap, and rebuild the whole room into fractal shapes?”

Blink. Blink. “Excuse me?”

Lucidia chuckled. “I take that as a ‘no’. That’s quite a relief. It means that her powers will grow alongside her, as opposed to going from nothing to everything. What intriguing differences.”

“I’m more shocked to think that you consider the pram-crush to be of acceptable baby-level power.”

“Oh, compared to my experience it is indeed quite basic. On my end, I might have killed my father by accident if Grandpa didn’t protect him.”

“Then… without the Grandmaster…” Mezil didn’t want to think about the grimmer possibilities anymore. “I’m glad the other Palatino will have a much safer time raising you. Albeit a more intensive and involved one.”

“Sooooo Mezzy,” she asked, “How do you feel about becoming a town boy?”

He rested a finger on his chin in jest. “Hmm, let’s see. I will breathe cleaner air for sure. There’s also the community aspect. Most important of all, I would have functioning parents. Not much hope for my siblings though.”

“Oh c’mon, are they that bad?”

“Knowing my sister, she would start complaining about living in a zany town by her early teens. As for my brother, he will make unreasonable bets with all sorts of gods and eldritch beings. And get me involved somehow.”

Lucidia laughed at the imagery.

Talking about the potential shenanigans was much more entertaining than Mezil anticipated. He’s starting to see the appeal.

“What about my birth mother?” asked Lucidia. “She may not be playing with national power, but I’m sure there are other prospects. Like marrying me off to the patron skeleton deity, for example.”

“Hmph! I swear on my dignity that a certain ‘Winston Boy’ will abscond that poor little girl to the refuge of his house. And should Lydianne try to cause trouble, the boy’s mother will be at the doorstep armed with a soup ladle.”

“I can imagine the following spat…” Lucidia acted, “‘You’re too lax, Missus Winston! Your children run wild with mediocre grades, preoccupied with stealing my progeny for mischief!’ and then ‘You’re too strict, Lady! Are you trying to sell your well-groomed ‘progeny’ to an auction or something?’”

Mezil breathed deep. “That burn… That’s exactly what my mother would deliver.”

“Like mother, like son.” The wife giggled away.

“What about the fathers? Connor and Palatino wouldn’t meddle, I imagine.”

“Maybe they will, at first. But eventually they’ll let the scene take its natural course. My biological father is a mild-mannered man. Without doubt, he will get along well with yours. I can imagine them eating popcorn together while the impromptu ‘movie’ unfolds.”

“All is fine until a fight breaks out, I suppose.” Mezil then continued: “Such would be the drama that plays over and over in Ebott’s Wake. Until one day… those two childhood friends will marry and live happily ever after.”

The husband took his wife’s hand and held it dearly in his grasp. “As it is with us, right now.”

She giggled in bashful glee, cheeks flushed in bright fuchsia.

“I certainly hope so,” she said. “For us and for them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14 Chapters for the 14th of February. I hope you enjoyed this fun little adventure :)
> 
> Happy Valentines!
> 
> If you're interested in the settings, head over to the following links!
> 
> Ebott's Wake: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7330132/chapters/16649893  
> The Golden Quiche: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296460/chapters/12226634
> 
> The Fanfic Paradise Discord Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FanficParadiseCol


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